The Doyle Effect
by rainysfeverdreams
Summary: Cordelia is sent a vision of Doyle over two years after his death. The race to bring him back soon follows, but resurrection is never easy. Begins during the opening scene of S3's episode "Couplet."
1. Chapter 1: A Fluttering

**Title:** The Doyle Effect

 **Pairing:** Primarily Cordy/Doyle, with lots of Angel/Doyle friendship and hints of Cordy/Angel

 **Summary:** Cordelia is sent a vision of Doyle over two years after his death. Begins during the opening scene of S3's episode "Couplet."

 **A/N -** I stumbled across this old fic outline and I decided it's never the wrong time to resurrect Doyle on the page. Dedicated to Glenn Quinn and the wonderful, lovable character he created who made an indelible mark on this viewer and many others. Hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

 ***** PROLOGUE*****

Cordelia stands in the doorway of her bedroom admiring the attractive, muscular male specimen standing before her. The Groosaluggg had arrived at her doorstep—er, at the Hyperion Hotel's doorstep anyway- just when she needed him most. The loneliness of her chosen path had been getting her down, but now things were looking up.

Very, very _up_.

She can feel her pulse racing as she saunters closer to him, "So... you don't miss it? You know, the power, castle, concubines, and the royal chippies."

"There was never anyone else."

There isn't a single insincere bone in his body. Cordelia is left slightly speechless. She had never been anyone's 'only' before. "Oh."

"I welcomed the overthrow. The tedium of government was too much to bear after a life on the battlefield."

Cordelia runs a finger down the side of Groo's face, letting herself enjoy the feel of him, "Your heart wasn't really in it."

He gazes at her, earnest as ever, "No. That left when you did."

He slowly leans forward and their lips meet. Cordelia could swear the room is spinning as she lifts her hands to his long, thick locks. She lets herself get lost for a moment. It feels so good to be wanted. Even more so to be adored, and there is no doubt in her mind that Groo adores her and only her.

As she pulls back, the entire world tilts on its axis. Or, at least, that's what it feels like.

Her stomach does a somersault and her eyes widen to their limit. Groo's dark eyes have been replaced with a familiar pair of twinkling pale-green ones. And attached to them is a man who has been dead for over two years.

"Princess?"

Cordelia takes a step back trying to catch her breath, not to mention her grip on reality.

"Is something wrong?" The green-eyed man asks. She vaguely registers that the voice emanating from his lips is not his own.

As her lips form the shape of his name, she breathes it out like a prayer.

"Doyle…"

* * *

 ***** CHAPTER 1 *****

Cordelia splashes cold water on her face and stares at her reflection in the mirror, noting the bags that had settled below her eyes. It had been a long night. And certainly not long in the way she'd thought it would be when she first brought Groo back to her apartment. Instead of com-shucking the night away, she had made up a place for him on her couch while she spent a sleepless night alone in her bed thinking about a man who'd been dead for years.

She had been tempted to call Angel right away and tell him about the vision, but the truth was she needed time to digest it herself. At first she thought she might just be feeling guilty for moving on with Groo. After all, he was the first man she was ready to give her heart to since Doyle was around. That couldn't be a coincidence. She certainly didn't want to wake up Angel and open old wounds just for that. But as she lay there staring at her ceiling, in the apartment that he had helped her find, she had to consider the more likely possibility.

The Powers That Be had sent her a vision of Allen Francis Doyle.

* * *

As Cordelia crosses the Hyperion lobby, she sees Angel and Wes are already awake and chatting in the back office. As she plops her stuff down on a chair, Angel turns toward her, seemingly surprised by her presence.

"Oh, you're here."

He notices Groo opening the cabinet in the lobby and lifting a sword admiringly.

"And so is he."

Cordelia is too focused on her most recent vision to care what Groo is doing at the moment. Truthfully, she had to bring him with her to the office, because she didn't know what else to do with him. As eclectic as L.A. might be, she couldn't exactly send Conan the Barbarian out sightseeing on his own. In any case, he wasn't her main priority and she didn't have the time to feel guilty about it. There were bigger issues at hand. Much bigger.

She snaps Angel's attention back in her direction, "Angel, let Groo play with your weapons for a minute. I need to talk to you."

When Angel sees the serious look on her face all thoughts of his weapons are forgotten. He follows her as she moves into Wes' office. "Of course."

She stands on the far side of Wes' desk and leans her hand against one side of the bookcase, as if she's trying to brace herself for whatever she's about to say. Angel hovers in the doorway, glancing over at Connor who is fussing in his basinet. He reaches down and picks up a small rattle.

"And Wes. I need you to hear this, too. It's about a vision I had last night."

Wes looks up, but Angel is still distracted, waving the colorful toy in front of his infant son.

"It was Doyle."

Angel's attention abruptly shifts from the baby to Cordelia. She watches as his expression morphs through several phases finally landing on something closely resembling her own. Shock. Pain. And, finally, hope.

"Doyle?" Wes' voice permeates the heavy silence. "The original bearer of your visions?"

"The one and only." Cordelia replies. "One minute I was kissing Groo, and the next I was staring into Doyle's eyes. He looked really good." Her voice breaks and she clears her throat trying to regain her composure. "Did I mention how trippy the visions are nowadays? Less artsy, more 3D."

"That is very interesting." Wes remarks, grabbing a thick volume of something or another from one of his bookshelves. "What else did you see?"

Cordelia looks back over at Angel who is clearly still processing her words. She sighs and closes her eyes trying to recall every little detail. "There was a circle of stones with some kind of symbols etched into them and Doyle was standing in the middle. Outside the windows, the lights are flashing, like a storm, maybe? And it felt like someone might've been standing behind him, but I couldn't see. I don't know."

She opens her eyes and her voice softens, "I was focused on Doyle."

Wes nods, flipping through the pages of his book rapidly. "Remind me, Angel, wasn't Doyle mentioned in a prophecy once before? Pertaining to the Lister demon population?"

Angel has been silently taking this in, trying to steady himself against the onslaught of feelings that are attached to Doyle's name.

"The Promised One." He says quietly. "He was their savior."

"That's a good place to start. As both a messenger and a savior, Doyle was obviously very important to The Powers That Be. If he was mentioned in a prophecy once before, there might be more information in alternate texts. Something that might help explain why Cordelia would be sent a vision of him now."

"Cordelia." Angel's voice cuts through Wes' excitement like a dull blade. "Are you sure it was really… _him_?"

She swallows heavily, completely understanding Angel's hesitation. "It was him, Angel. And I know it sounds crazy after all this time, but I think he's coming back. That's what the vision was telling me."

The pain of Doyle's loss is reflected between them. Something no one else could share or understand. The memory of the first soldier down.

Angel gestures toward Wes who is already engrossed in his research. "You hit the books with Wes. I need to pay a visit to someone who knows more about this than we do."

* * *

Angel descends to Skip's chamber and finds the imposing demon kicked back, eating hot wings and licking his talons.

"Angel! Buddy. I wasn't expecting company. You really should've called ahead. I only have enough for one. But, you know what? This place guarantees speedy delivery. I can call 'em back and ask for a second order. You like your buffalo wings hot, Chernobyl or fiery-depths-of-hell?"

"Not here for wings, Skip. I need some information."

Skip sighs, putting aside his lunch. "Yeah, I get it. You hero-types are all the same. Always with the world-saving. You know, you should really consider starting a union. Might get you better benefits. Lunch breaks, vacation time. I guess Medical isn't a big priority for you, but I imagine you'd need a good Dental plan?"

Angel allows Skip to rattle on only because he needs his help, but it's hard to put up with the schtick when all he can think about is his long-lost friend.

"The Powers That Be sent Cordelia a vision of Doyle. I want to know what it means."

Skip laughs, "Cutting right to the chase. Well, bud, it doesn't really work that way, as you know. The visions are the message. Why don't you ask Cordelia what she saw?"

"I know _what_ Cordelia saw. What I want to know is _why_ she saw it? Why after all this time?"

Skip raises his hands in surrender, stepping back a bit. "Alright, alright. Take it down a notch, will ya? You seem tense. Are you tense? I would've thought you'd be happy to hear that your old pal Doyle is coming back from the great beyond. Weren't you guys tight? Or is it the competition you're worried about?"

Angel can barely hear the words coming out of Skip's mouth. The only phrase that matters is echoing over and over on a loop. "Doyle is coming back?"

"Yes, the messenger is being granted a second chance at life. Yadda yadda yadda. Honestly, I thought that part was obvious."

Angel lets the shock of that statement roll over him once more before his common sense takes over. "The Powers That Be aren't in the habit of randomly resurrecting the dead, no matter who they are. I should know, considering how hard I begged for his life in the first place. You don't get something for nothing."

"Angel, Angel, Angel. Always assuming that everything revolves around you. It's _your_ mission. He's _your_ friend. _You_ let him die. Maybe _you_ should think about who else might've appealed on this Doyle guy's behalf. Maybe that person is owed something. Did you think of that?"

"Cordelia?"

"Uh. Yeah. Glad you're keeping up. That young lady was accidentally saddled with Doyle's old gig, not a particularly pleasant one, I might add. And, if that wasn't enough, she agreed to keep the visions even when she had another, very tempting, offer on the table. You might say, she's the employee of the century, and The Powers That Be figured it was time to give her a little something to show their appreciation."

Angel finally allows himself to believe this is really happening, but he's still skeptical. "This is more than a little appreciation gift."

"They are feeling extremely generous. But, if you think it's too much, let me know. I could recommend that they go with option B, which I think was a commemorative watch?"

* * *

Cordelia sips nervously from her coffee cup trying to compensate for the hours of sleep she didn't have the previous night. As Wes slams a book shut, she jumps slightly, spilling a bit of coffee onto her jeans.

"I'm sorry, Cordelia. I didn't mean to close that book with such… emphasis."

She gives him a half-smile as she wipes at the wet spot in her lap. "It's fine, Wes. From the emphasis, I take it there was nothing useful?"

"Hard to say. I did find a brief passage I was able to cross-reference with the Lister texts. It concerns a messenger who returns from the higher plane to deliver a package to the Chosen One, but I can't be certain it has anything to do with Doyle. There have been so many messengers throughout the centuries. In fact, the old saying 'don't kill the messenger' seems rather ironic considering a great many of them tend to die prematurely."

Wes looks up to see Cordelia's less-than-enthusiastic expression. "I'm sure that won't be the case for you…"

"Thanks, Wes. Maybe you should just try looking in a different book."

"Yes, exactly that," he says sheepishly returning to his office to trade one dusty volume for another.

Cordelia turns her head toward the center of the lobby where Fred and Gunn are sitting close together on the circular sofa. Fred is holding Connor and Gunn is leaning over her shoulder making silly faces at the baby. To a casual observer, they could be the picture of a young family, enjoying the afternoon. It brings a genuine smile to Cordelia's face to see them so happy. Through all this chaos, they'd found each other, found love. Maybe this was a preview of their future together; maybe someday they would have a child of their own. Cordelia's smile fades as she runs the odds of ever having anything close to that for herself.

That reminds her, where did Groo wander off to?

"There always was something foggy in that lad's future." Cordelia had almost forgotten Lorne was sitting beside her, flipping through one of Wesley's books as he nurses a Sea Breeze. His comment surprises her, but her gears quickly turn back to the only topic that truly matters to her at the moment.

She glances over at Lorne questioningly, "You knew Doyle?" In all the time she'd known the former-bar owner, they'd never once discussed their apparently mutual acquaintance. It shouldn't have surprised her that Doyle had visited Caritas. There probably weren't many bars in L.A. that he hadn't visited.

"That might be overstating things. I didn't know him well, but I read him a few times. Still think of him whenever I hear _Sunday Bloody Sunday_." He shudders.

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, it wasn't the singing that was bad. He actually could've given Bono a run for his money. But, between all the self-loathing half-demon stuff and the literal blood I had to see in his past, present and future, let's just say, I'm glad he didn't come by more often than he did."

Cordelia sighs, "I would've loved to see that." She is smiling from ear to ear as she imagines Doyle pulling his best Bono impression. All this talk of him has brought up a lot of old memories, accompanied by bittersweet emotions. All the unfulfilled potential, all the unresolved feelings.

She lets herself reflect on a time when Angel Investigations was just Angel, Doyle and Cordelia… and maybe a few cockroaches who also occupied the place. She had no other friends in L.A., no purpose in life other than an acting career that was going nowhere. Back then, she wasn't even all that close to Angel—he was just Buffy's broody ex who had great hair and a tendency to save her life on occasion.

And Doyle…she had initially dismissed him as an older, more poorly dressed version of Xander Harris. Sexy accent aside, the rest of him was a total fixer upper. But a funny thing happened as she got to know him better. She started to see beyond the lack of money and utter lack of fashion sense. She saw what actually mattered. She saw substance: his bravery, his intellect, his heart. To say that she hadn't known he was interested in her romantically would be a downright lie. She knew he was attracted, she just never knew how deep those feelings went. Or that she possibly shared them.

Connor's cry from across the room jolts her back to the present and she realizes just how far away she'd been. As much as she'd been trying to keep her hopes in check, the thoughts of Doyle keep flooding her mind and she's more than happy to let herself drown in them.

Suddenly, the picturesque scene of Fred, Gunn and Connor turns into a terrifying tableau, featuring a hideous spiny creature. Cordelia doesn't flinch. This is what the visions are like now. She sighs heavily, reaching for a note pad sitting nearby.

A hero's work is never done.


	2. Chapter 2: From The End to The Beginning

***** CHAPTER 2 *****

"Have I done something to displease my princess?"

Groo trudges along beside Fred and Gunn as they head toward the address Cordelia had given them. The drive across town had been fine at first. Groo seemed excited to be sent out on demon-slaying duty. Energized, even. Ready to take a demon head back to his princess! That was until Gunn asked how he had enjoyed his first night in L.A. with Cordelia. At that point the Pylean-refugee revealed that things weren't exactly as he had expected them to be.

"Oh, no, I don't think you did anything to displease her." Fred fidgets nervously, feeling confident that Groo could handle the impending fight, not as sure he could handle the feeling of rejection. "You are quite pleasing. I'd say she is very pleased by your... pleasantness."

Gunn gives Fred an amused look and then saves her by interjecting, "Sorenson Park is right up ahead. That's where we should find this… whatever Wesley called it."

"Senih'd demon." Fred pipes in, grinning at Gunn in thanks. He smiles back, taking her hand in his and interlocking their fingers. The evening would be perfect if it weren't for the hideous demon they were about to face… and the less hideous demon looking for relationship advice.

"Then what keeps her from me? There is a distance… as if her heart is not free."

Fred gives Groo a sympathetic look, "Her heart is… um, maybe you should talk to Cordelia about this."

"I would very much like to, but she has been…"

"Distracted." Fred offers.

"By her vision of Doyle." Gunn confirms.

Groo's brow furrows with concern. "Yes, her vision. That is what caused her to withdraw."

Fred bites her lip. She doesn't know much about Doyle, but she had seen the look in Cordelia's eyes as she'd told them about the vision of her deceased friend. Fred might've lived in a cave for five years, but she wasn't blind.

"You'd withdraw, too, if someone who's been dead for two years is suddenly standing right in front of you." Gunn points out.

Groo nods in agreement, "She believes this friend will return from the afterlife."

"I think she and Angel are both hoping that's what the vision means," Fred replies. "Doyle was important to both of them. Right, Charles?"

"I'll say. He's the one who gave Cordelia her visions in the first place."

Groo stops walking, which causes Fred and Gunn to pause and turn toward him. "I did not know."

Fred shares a perplexed look with Gunn. "You didn't know what?"

Without warning, Groo raises his sword and lunges forward, knocking Fred and Gunn to the ground as the large, spiny demon from Cordelia's vision springs from the shadows.

"I think we found the Senih'd demon." Fred says as she lies on her back with Gunn on top of her.

"I think it found us." Gunn replies, pulling himself up and reaching down to help Fred up as well.

The two turn toward the fight, which is already in-progress, and watch in awe as the Groosalugg makes quick work of their fearsome opponent.

* * *

Angel storms through the front doors of the Hyperion, arms loaded with a bundle of engraved stones. Cordelia is at his side in a heartbeat, with Wesley not far behind.

"You found them all that fast?!" Cordelia asks excitedly, taking one of the stones from his armful.

After his chat with Skip, Angel had called ahead with the good news and had immediately been sent on a scavenger hunt to collect the stones from Cordelia's vision. Luckily, Wes had been able to identify them and, even luckier, he knew that the majority of them were in storage at the Natural History Museum in South Central.

"It's not exactly my first time robbing a museum."

Wes clears his throat and Angel clarifies, " _Borrowing_ from a museum."

Cordelia has been placing each stone side-by-side on the lobby counter, but as she lifts the final one from Angel's arms she sees that a strange gooey substance covers the entire thing. She tosses it down quickly, holding out her hands that are now also covered with goo. "OK, that one was not from the museum, was it?"

"You don't want to know where that one came from." Angel confirms.

Cordelia makes a disgusted face, "I really don't." She backpedals toward the doorway, seeking out soap and water as quickly as her legs can carry her.

Angel turns toward Wes, gesturing to the pile of books nearby, "Have you figured out what else we need for the spell?"

Wes sighs heavily, "Not yet. These stones are the base elements of a mystical cloaking device. They're used to hide whatever is placed between them. Nothing I've read so much as hints that they'd be used for anything close to a resurrection spell."

"Well, keep searching. There has to be something you're missing."

Wes is left with his own thoughts as Angel heads upstairs, unbuttoning his goo-filled shirt on the way. He takes a quick shower and changes into a fresh set of clothes before checking on Connor. Assured that the baby is sleeping soundly, Angel heads back downstairs just in time to see Fred and Gunn enter the front doors of the hotel with Groo in tow.

Cordelia, who had been arranging the engraved stones in a circle on the floor, turns to greet them. "You're back. How'd it go?"

"It went." Gunn replies. "You're boy did most of the dirty work."

"All of it, really." Fred adds with a crooked smile.

Groo steps forward lifting a severed demon head and holding it out toward Cordelia. He is grinning proudly, "For you, my princess."

Cordelia steps back. She had just finished washing demon goo off herself, she wasn't interested in getting covered in any more. "Oh! How incredibly… thoughtful."

"You really shouldn't have." Angel deadpans as he approaches from behind.

Cordelia keeps the fake smile plastered to her face as she points to the far side of the lobby, "Why don't you just… go put it over there? That'd be great."

"For the record, we told him the severed head was a bad idea." Fred whispers apologetically.

Cordelia shrugs it off. "At least it kept him occupied for a while." She turns toward Gunn with her best will-you-do-me-a-favor face, "Hey, Gunn. Would you mind dropping Groo off at my apartment? Pretty please. And maybe, show him how to microwave a TV dinner without burning the place down. And how to use the shower without causing a flood. I want to stick around for a while."

"You want me to stay at your place and babysit the Groosalugg, don't you?"

"Would you mind?!" Cordelia asks brightly.

Gunn looks over at Groo who is carefully "arranging" the severed head on a small side table in the corner. "You sure you don't need help with all this?" He asks pointing to the circle of stones on the floor.

"I'll help." Fred offers. "All-nighters are kinda a specialty of mine. So are portals to other dimensions…. Just in case that's something you think you might need."

"That'd be great, Fred." Angel says with a thankful smile.

Gunn leans over and kisses Fred goodnight as Cordelia goes to inform Groo that he'd be spending another night alone on her couch.

Angel turns to Fred with a confused look, "Um… are you and Gunn dating now?

* * *

"They're backwards!" Fred exclaims.

"Huh?" Wes's heavy lids snap open and he shifts his weight, hoping that Cordelia and Angel hadn't noticed that he was snoozing for the past 20 minutes. Not that they would complain considering that it was rapidly approaching 3am. He would've left hours ago if it wasn't for the desperate look he'd seen in Cordelia's eyes. Angel was less obvious, but Wes could tell he was every bit as anxious to find this spell as she was. And who could blame them under the circumstances?

"What do you mean they're backwards?" Angel asks, leaning forward to see what Fred is reading.

She points to an illustration at the top of the page, "The stones. In order to be activated they need to be arranged the opposite way, with the symbols facing outward."

Cordelia shakes her head in disagreement, "I arranged the stones exactly the way I saw in my vision. I'm positive."

"That still doesn't explain how a cloaking spell could resurrect the dead." Wes replies, removing his glasses and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Actually, it does." Fred goes on excitedly. "We tried the cloaking spell because that is the only one associated with the stones, right? What if we are supposed to try it backwards?"

Angel and Cordelia's eyes meet over Fred's head. They have no idea where she's going with this. But Wes is starting to catch on, "You think that by saying the incantation backwards the stones will have the opposite effect. They will reveal instead of hide."

Cordelia is still confused, and her lack of sleep is not helping, "How can they reveal something that isn't there to begin with? Doyle is dead, not invisible."

"I don't think they'll reveal something. Not exactly. I think it'll be like creating a lighthouse…or, no, not that, more like…a landing strip?" Fred says hopefully.

Angel nods encouragingly. "Not showing him to us, showing him where to land."

Cordelia is out of her chair before anyone else has moved. "Where's the book with the spell?"

Wes rises from his chair and picks up a book sitting on the edge of his desk. Cordelia pulls it out of his hands and rounds the counter, heading toward the stone circle before he can say otherwise. "Um, Cordelia… maybe you'd like me to—" Angel puts his arm out, stopping Wes from following her.

"Let her do it, Wes. She needs to do it."

Angel, Wes and Fred hang back in the doorway of Wes' office as Cordelia approaches the circle and begins speaking the Latin words on the page, reading from the end to the beginning. As she finishes, she looks up expectantly, waiting for something magical to happen. After a beat, she turns back around and sighs heavily, her disappointment etched into her features.

"It was a good idea, Fred." Angel says, patting the small woman on the shoulder.

They all trudge back into the office with heavier hearts. Cordelia joins them, tossing the spell book back into the pile.

At that moment, there is a great flash of light, followed by an enormous clap of thunder. Angel whirls around to see an electricity storm taking place _inside_ the lobby of the Hyperion.

"Everyone get down." Angel shouts, pulling Cordelia to safety behind him. They all duck and cover as a stray lightning bolt hits the wall nearby. Books and papers go flying overhead as the storm rages for several moments.

With one final clap of thunder, decibels louder than all the others, the storm ceases as suddenly as it began.

Angel waits a beat to see if the silence will hold. He nods to Cordelia after a moment and she needs no further coaxing. She is on her feet, with Angel close behind. As they step into the center of the lobby they no longer see a stone circle.

In its place lies an unconscious male form… looking exactly as he had on the day he died.

* * *

Cordelia's breath hitches in her throat, "Doyle." She lands on her knees beside him, placing a hand on his leather-clad arm and inspecting him closer. Even his clothes are the same. "Oh my God, Angel. It's really him."

Angel leans down beside her. He doesn't need to touch Doyle to know that he is real. His vampire senses tell him all he needs to know. He has a heartbeat. He's breathing. Most importantly, he can detect nothing aside from the familiar scent of his half-demon friend.

Wesley and Fred stand awkwardly nearby, observing the scene with wonder and curiosity. Neither one of them knows quite what to say or do about this unconscious stranger at their feet.

"Doyle?" Cordelia slides her hand up Doyle's arm, across his shoulder, finally landing on his cheek, which causes her to jump back in surprise, "He's so hot!" Again she reaches out, letting the back of her hand lightly rest against his forehead. "Too hot."

Fred kneels down across from Cordelia; she places her hand against Doyle's neck, feeling for his pulse. She doesn't jump back but her eyes widen at the feel of his skin.

"Doyle, can you hear me? It's Cordy." Cordelia's hand doesn't leave its resting place on Doyle's forehead, but her worried gaze is redirected toward Angel. "He's not waking up. We need to take him to the hospital."

Wes speaks up from his observation point above them, "I'm not sure that'd be wise."

Angel places a comforting arm around Cordelia's shoulders, trying to reassure her that under the very abnormal circumstances, this can be considered normal, "Resurrection isn't easy. He just needs time to recover."

"And if it's any comfort," Wes adds, "Brachen demons can withstand much higher fevers than human beings."

"He's only half demon," she whispers looking back down at his face. She still can't believe he's there. That she's touching him.

Fred sits back on her heels removing her fingers from Doyle's neck, "His pulse is a little fast, but it's strong."

"A very good sign." Wes agrees.

Angel stands up, but his hand remains on Cordelia's shoulder, "We should move him upstairs."

Cordelia nods, reluctantly removing her hand from his head and standing up beside Angel, who in turn, bends back down to retrieve Doyle's prone form from the floor. As he holds his friend in his arms, he motions toward Fred and Wes. "Fred, can you collect some cold compresses and whatever fever reducers we have in the first aid kit? And, Wes, go home and get some rest. We can take it from here."

With that Angel swiftly moves up the stairs with Doyle in his arms and Cordelia on his heels.

Fred marvels at the events of the evening, "I can't believe that worked. It's a miracle."

Wes doesn't respond, but his concerned gaze says more than enough.

"You're worried." Fred acknowledges. "About Cordelia and Angel? Or Doyle?"

"All of them," Wes replies.

"But you said it yourself, he's half-demon. His physiology is different than an average human. It will help him get through this."

"It's not the fever that concerns me, Fred. It's his return, plain and simple. It's unprecedented. We can't even say for sure if he's the man they once knew or something else entirely."

Fred takes that in, "You think he could be an imposter."

Wes shakes his head. "That's a concern, but not the main one. We don't know where he was or what he went through. He could be their Doyle, without being _their_ Doyle. And that might be more devastating to them than an imposter."

She nods, understanding completely. Spending five years in a cave in Pylea had turned her into a different Winifred Burkle. She could hardly imagine what spending a few years dead might do to a person.

"I hope for their sakes that he is their Doyle, in every way possible."


	3. Chapter 3: Resting State

**A/N - Thank you to anyone who's read this story and extra special thanks to the reviewers. I just wanted to address the question that came up about Angel's feelings... Actually, this chapter will shed some light on that issue, so I probably don't need to say much. ;) Angel's POV was limited in the previous chapters, but his romantic feelings for Cordelia are present in this story and will make for interesting conflict in future chapters... Hopefully, you'll keep reading and get to that part.**

* * *

 ***** CHAPTER 3 *****

Angel sits quietly in his chair watching the steady rise and fall of Doyle's chest, listening to the strong staccato of the heart beating underneath the red button-down shirt. They had laid him down on the bed fully clothed, only removing his brown leather jacket, which now hangs over a nearby chair. His shoes, too, were tossed beside the bed. They were the only possessions he had in the world—the clothes he'd been wearing when he died.

Angel had lost many people throughout his long life, and there was no death that had ever cut as deep as Doyle's. Not even Buffy's death had hit him as hard, or at least, not in the same way. Part of it was because he felt responsible; Doyle had sacrificed himself so that Angel could keep fighting, regardless of the fact that Angel had lived over two centuries longer than his friend and mentor. Perhaps the bigger reason was because Angel had never had a true friend until Doyle. Doyle was his first _best_ friend and, it was due to Doyle's legacy that he had found another best friend, who just happened to be resting peacefully on the other side of the bed.

Cordelia had started out sitting on the side of the bed, pressing cool compresses to Doyle's fevered brow and trying to get him to swallow some water without choking him, but Angel could see she was fading fast. No wonder, considering she hadn't slept at all the night before and had spent every waking hour of the day and the better part of the night obsessing over how to bring Doyle back. It didn't take long for her eyes to close, falling deeply asleep curled up on the pillow beside him. Her hand resting on his shoulder, as if she needed a constant reminder that he was really there.

As Angel takes in the vision of the two of them sleeping side-by-side, he feels a small pang of longing, which he quickly pushes aside. In fact, it makes him feel guilty that his mind could even go there at a moment like this. While there is no denying his romantic feelings for Cordelia, there is also nothing that matters more than having Doyle back in his life, safe and sound.

And one of the things that had mattered most to Doyle while he was alive, was Cordelia.

Angel reflects on the lonely life his friend had lived prior to their first meeting. Doyle had basically given up on trying to have a "normal" life once he'd discovered he was not, in fact, a normal human being. He kept his expectations low and his chances of a long, fulfilling life even lower. But the one glimmer of light that had appeared in Doyle's otherwise fairly bleak existence, was Cordelia. Angel had watched it happen; what started as a minor flirtation turned into more. For both of them. Doyle had fallen hard and fast, making his feelings quite clear… to Angel, unfortunately, not to Cordelia. While Cordelia, in true Cordelia fashion, wouldn't budge an inch—at least, not in a way Doyle could see. Doyle had often joked that he was wearing her down, and if only he had known how true that was. In the end, Doyle had not only died loving her, but used his last moments on earth to try and show her how much. And he had left a devastated Cordelia in his wake. Angel suspected that at least part of her pain and grief came from her belatedly realizing how far she had fallen for Doyle, only to already have lost him. The wounds he'd left behind were deep, and although she had moved forward, she had been forever altered by the loss. Not to mention, altered by the parting gift Doyle had bestowed upon her.

In the face of that history, the two people before him are inextricably linked. Not only to each other, but also to him. They are his chosen messengers, his loyal soldiers, his very best friends. And, ultimately, their happiness means more to him than his own. As he watches them rest peacefully, he knows he will gladly accept heartbreak for himself, if it means they can find happiness together. Assuming that is what they both still want.

Of course, there is still Groo to consider…

Angel almost feels a little bad for Groo. Ever since Cordelia had the vision of Doyle, she had barely spoken to the muscled hero who had traveled from a parallel dimension to be by her side. Angel couldn't be certain if that is because she is simply distracted, or if it is due to her past feelings for Doyle resurfacing. One thing is for certain: Groo is not her priority. Not by a longshot...

* * *

Angel isn't sure when his eyes closed and he joined his friends in the depths of slumber, but it happened. When his eyes reopen, he isn't sure how much time has passed, but judging by the bright streams of light fighting to peak out from behind the curtains, it is a pretty good bet that it's currently midday. He turns his head to see Doyle and Cordelia right where he'd left them, sleeping soundly. She had moved closer to Doyle in her sleep and is now resting her head on his shoulder with her left arm wrapped snuggly around his chest. Doyle doesn't look like he's moved a muscle since they had laid him down. He is completely unresponsive, and if it wasn't for his reassuringly steady vital signs, Angel may have reconsidered his no-hospitals-for-demons stance.

"Hope I didn't wake you."

Angel hadn't even noticed that Lorne was in the room until he spoke.

"No, that's fine Lorne. How is he? Did the fever break?" Angel straightens up in his chair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Lorne shrugs, keeping his voice low as he lifts an object off the side table "It broke the thermometer, if that's what you're asking. I've known Thanksgiving turkeys who weren't this roasted."

Angel shakes his head in frustration. "Maybe an ice bath would help?"

"You might have more luck with liquid nitrogen. Good thing he's got those Brachen genes he's always hated or his brain would be chop suey right about now."

"No way a full-blooded human would've survived this particular resurrection process. I'm guessing the Powers knew that." Angel points out.

Lorne nods thoughtfully, "They do work in _Mysterious Ways_. Hmm… I do hope he'll sing that tune for me when he wakes up. It was always one of his better ones."

"U2." Angel remarks, "That figures."

"Oh, I almost forgot." Lorne lifts a blood-filled mug from the table beside him and hands it to Angel. "You have to keep your strength up. Sitting by a sick bed is hard work. Or a resurrection bed, in this case."

Angel sips from the mug hungrily, "Thanks, Lorne."

"There are some sandwiches for Cordelia as well. Gunn picked them up on the way over… he also brought a fellow former-Pylean resident who doesn't seem to know what to do with himself." Lorne gestures toward Cordelia clinging to Doyle. "Is there anything I should tell him?"

"He is… welcome to play with my weapons." Angel says haltingly. "But not my Illyrian broadsword, that's my favorite. You think you could have Wes put that one in my room?"

Lorne gives Angel a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything else."

* * *

Cordelia stirs, slowly becoming aware of the extremely warm body she has wrapped herself around. She keeps her eyes closed for a moment, enjoying the feel of being close to someone. Anyone. As her foggy brain slowly begins to register exactly who that someone is, she feels a rapid acceleration of her pulse. She opens her eyes and the awe at seeing him alive again is as fresh and new as it was the night before.

Cordelia slowly retrieves her arm from across Doyle's midsection and pushes herself up to a sitting position. She sees Angel sitting nearby and gives him a small smile, "Hey. What time is it?"

"It's late. How'd you sleep?"

"About as well as him." Cordelia says lowering her eyes back to Doyle's unmoving form. "I can't remember the last time I slept that deeply."

"You needed it." Angel replies.

"Has he…?" She pauses, not even sure what to ask. It was pretty clear just by sitting beside Doyle that he was still feverish and utterly comatose.

"There's been no change, but I think his fever is coming down slowly."

Cordelia says nothing as she stares down at his face once again, taking in every detail. Comparing it to the images from her memory bank. "Seeing him again... it's so surreal."

"I know." Angel replies.

"It's weird. I feel like… I miss him even more now that he's right here than I did when he was gone, y'know?" Her stomach growls audibly; she can't remember the last time she ate.

"Gunn left some food over there and a change of clothes for you." Angel continues speaking even as Cordelia slides off the bed and wanders toward the plate of food. "He brought Groo, too."

Cordy bites into a sandwich, but turns back toward Angel upon hearing his absurd sentence, "Did you just say that _Gunn_ picked out a pair of clothes for me to wear?"

A groan from Doyle, causes Angel to jump to his feet and Cordelia to drop her nourishment and rush to his bedside.

"Doyle?" Angel says, leaning over Doyle's side of the bed. "Doyle, can you hear me?"

Doyle groans again and stirs slightly. Cordelia leans forward to feel his head, but before she makes contact with his skin, he morphs into demon form, which seems to settle him down.

"Oh." She says, retracting her hand. "Is that a good sign or a bad sign, you think?"

"Good. He's stronger as a demon."

Cordelia takes that in, studying the face Doyle disliked so much, "So, it'll help his body heal faster?"

"Hopefully."

She gazes down at the dark green complexion taking special note of the sharp quills poking out all over his skin. She had only seen this face once before, very briefly. She had to admit it was rather intimidating. Not to mention, difficult to navigate. But, underneath it all, she still saw Doyle. And the last words he had ever spoken to her were seared into her brain.

 _Too bad we'll never know if this is a face you could learn to love._

It was a question she'd finally be able to answer, and deep inside she was fairly certain she already knew.

* * *

Angel descends the stairs into the Hyperion Lobby. It had been over 24 hours since Doyle had been returned to them and this is the first time Angel had left his room. Cordelia still hadn't done so. In fact, the only time she had so much as left his bedside was to take a quick shower. He wouldn't have left now except that she insisted he go reassure the others, let them know that Doyle was slowly improving. He suspected what she was really asking him to do was talk to Groo, something she didn't seem to want to do herself. At least, not yet.

Doyle, for his part, was definitely improving but still not conscious. His fever had declined to a non-thermometer-breaking level, which would still be too hot for a human, but seemed to be more than manageable for him. He was a little more restless than before, morphing back and forth between his human and demon form at regular intervals. Angel was almost certain that the demon form was healing him more rapidly than the human form, but there was nothing he could do to have him stay that way. They just had to wait it out and hope he woke up soon.

As Angel enters the lobby, he sees Lorne who is obviously pleased to see Angel out and about, "Hey, big guy, good to see you around these parts. Does this mean there's good news pertaining to our little Irish friend?"

As Lorne talks he hands a rattle, to Connor who is squirming in a nearby stroller.

"He's improving. It's just a matter of time." Angel replies, giving his son a warm smile. "Thanks for taking care of Connor while I…"

Lorne waves his hand, dismissing Angel's words. "Please stop thanking me. If there's anything I'm good at, it's entertaining small children."

Angel peeks toward Wes' office, noting that it's empty. "Where is everyone else?"

"Working a case. Surveillance mostly, nothing dangerous. No need to bother you and Cordelia with the details."

A large crash from down the hall, draws Angel's attention. He gives Lorne a questioning look.

"That would be our friend the Groosalugg, practicing his… y'know, I'm not even sure what that weapon he's fooling around with is called? Seems old, though."

Angel sighs heavily, bracing himself for the awkward conversation that's sure to follow. He heads in the direction of clanking metal sounds and finds Groo trying to put a long hooked weapon back in its case. The remains of a potted plant lie in a broken heap nearby.

"I see you're a fan of the Claw of Archimedes." Angel's voice causes the Groosalugg to whirl around. His head bows in embarrassment. "That's actually just a miniature version. You should see what the full-sized ones can do."

"I am sorry for the destruction of your property, Angel. This weapon is magnificent, but unlike anything I am familiar with."

Angel pauses in front of the broken plant, "I never liked that plant anyway."

Groo steps away from the weapon case, looking hopefully at Angel, "Has my princess come downstairs as well? May I see her?"

Angel searches for his most sympathetic expression as he answers, "No… uh, she's still with Doyle."

Groo's face visibly falls, which urges Angel to continue, "But, she appreciates your patience. She's… really glad you're here."

Groo shakes his head sadly, "I do not think that is true. The princess no longer wishes for me to stay here."

Angel doesn't disagree, but knows it is not his place to tell Groo what is in Cordelia's heart. "I think you should let Cordelia tell you what she wants. Give her time."

Groo nods obediently, "You know her better than I, Angel. If that is what you think is best, I shall wait."

"Great. That's great." Angel says plastering a fake smile on his face. "Now, maybe I can show you some more weapons you've probably never heard of. They don't have Nerf products in Pylea, right?"

* * *

Cordelia's head slips off the hand that had been propping it up and she sits up abruptly, shaking herself back into consciousness. She pulls herself up and out of the chair she had been dozing in, trying to get some feeling back into her legs. Angel is sleeping in the chair across from her and her movements don't seem to rouse him.

After taking a lap around the room, she returns to Doyle's bedside where she sees he is currently in human form. She is relieved to see that his fever, now down to 104, is basically in the normal human range. As she blots some cool water across his sweaty brow, he starts to move. She doesn't get excited; this isn't the first time he has responded to external stimulus, but he has never regained consciousness.

Not until now.

Cordelia's jaw drops as she sees his eyes crack open and two familiar green orbs become visible for the first time. "Doyle?"

His eyes blink open and closed a few times, before finally staying open and darting around the room. She notices that his breathing is a little more rapid than before. His pupils are extremely dilated and he seems unable to focus.

"Doyle? It's Cordelia. Can you hear me?"

Her voice stirs Angel, and he is out of his chair and at her side in a matter of seconds. He says nothing, but instinctually reaches out to touch Doyle's arm, which causes Doyle to pull away violently. Angel backs up and finally speaks, "Doyle? It's us. Angel and Cordelia."

Doyle's eyes finally land in the general direction of Cordelia and Angel, but it's obvious he isn't able to focus on them very well. His lips form a shape, but no sound comes out.

"It's okay, Doyle. We're here. We're right here with you." She soothes.

Doyle groans, turning his head away from them and closing his eyes again, but he finally manages to croak out a word, "Cordy."

Cordelia's face lights up as she moves closer to his ear, keeping her voice calm and low. "Yes. Doyle, that's right. It's me."

"And Angel." Angel pipes in from over Cordelia's shoulder, trying to match her calming tone.

"Angel." Doyle repeats.

Angel smiles. Hearing his old friend recognize their names is enough to fill him with a sense of not only relief, but outright joy.

"There's got to be another way." He mumbles, eyes still closed.

Cordelia looks up at Angel in concern, "What's he saying?"

Angel's brow furrows, especially as Doyle's fevered ramblings continue, "The good fight, yeah?"

"He's saying things from right before he died."

"I get that now…" Doyle hoarsely whispers the last line before falling back into unconsciousness. His labored breathing falls into a steadier pattern as his body morphs back into its demon form.

Cordelia covers her mouth, holding back the tears that had formed as she too recognized his words, "He's remembering his death."

Angel grips Cordelia's shoulder, squeezing it in a sign that he shares her pain and grief.

"Like I said before. Resurrection isn't easy."

* * *

 **A/N - Next chapter, Doyle will be conscious and talking in complete sentences. I promise!**


	4. Chapter 4: Hover

***** CHAPTER 4 *****

His eyes open to a room he doesn't recognize. Everything around him is blurry, out of focus and much brighter than it should be under normal conditions. He can't remember where he was before or why he's here now. All he knows for certain is that he is hot and sweaty and aching all over. More than aching, throbbing, burning… _oh God, the pain!_

He groans audibly. What had he done to himself to feel like this?

"It's alright, Doyle. You're gonna be fine." He recognizes the sweet, female voice speaking from somewhere over his head. He slowly angles his head in its direction and tries to focus on the face that hovers there. He knows her. Of course, he knows her… but she looks so different.

"Cordelia?" He rasps. It hurts to use his throat.

She beams down at him, with that familiar smile that could light up a room, even one as dark as this one. As he manages to lock on to her dark eyes she simply says, "Hi."

"Everything hurts," he grunts, squinting his eyes at the dull light that feels like it scalds his eyeballs.

"I know." She says softly. "Don't try and move too much."

"You're hair," he says, reopening his eyes and trying to readjust his aching limbs. "It's different."

Apparently, this comment makes her particularly happy, because her smile widens as she reaches up to touch her short locks. "Yeah, it is. You noticed. That's good."

"Course I noticed." He says, a little offended that she'd think he wouldn't. He had always been very observant when it came to her. He tries to sit up, but quickly realizes that is an impossible feat. He makes it about a centimeter before crashing back into the pillow underneath his head. "Gah… "

"Don't try to get up." That voice wasn't hers, but it is recognizable. And comforting to hear.

"Angel." It still hurts to talk, but he forces out a few more syllables, "What the hell happened to me, man?"

Angel comes into focus as he walks closer to where Cordelia is standing over his bedside. It's hard to read what it is he sees on his two friends' faces, not to mention the fact that it's hard for him to keep his eyes focused on them for too long. He is more than a little tempted to morph into his demon form to try and temper the pain, but he holds out for Cordelia's sake as much as his own.

"It's a long story." Angel says, looking like he is reluctant to say more.

"You died," blurts Cordelia.

"I guess not that long." Angel mumbles.

Doyle takes in their words and tries to comprehend exactly what that means. He died? He certainly doesn't feel dead. Death really shouldn't be this painful.

"But you're not dead anymore." Cordelia confirms. "We brought you back."

"How did I die?" Doyle croaks in disbelief. He is not liking the sound of this. Being dead had definitely not been on his to-do list.

"You don't remember?" Cordelia asks. He can see the concern in her eyes, which is new and different for her. He can't recall ever seeing her that worried about him in all the time he's known her.

"It was the beacon. You dismantled it to save the Lister demons and it… killed you."

Angel's words spark a memory that Doyle didn't even know he had. Hazy images of slugging Angel, kissing Cordelia, leaping to a fiery, face-melting death. Remembering it seems to amplify the feeling of fire against his skin. He wishes he could pass out again and get some relief from the agony. He manages to choke out the first thing on his mind, "Pretty stupid move."

"Yeah, but also pretty heroic." Cordelia says, giving him an admiring smile. Again, something he was not used to seeing from her.

All this talking has made him breathless. He wants to ask more questions, but he finds himself choking instead. Cordelia helps him drink some water, but like everything else, it burns and chafes its way down his esophagus.

After a few minutes he manages to rasp out another question, "How long…was I gone?"

"Two years. Two Months. Nineteen Days." Angel replies evenly.

That is a blow. He lets a wave of nausea flow over him as he continues to try and make sense of the insane things he is hearing. At the moment, the pain is making him none too pleased to be living and breathing, but he doesn't have the energy to try and articulate that.

Cordelia's lovely face floats back into focus, along with the feeling of something soft and cool pressed against his head. For a brief moment he feels the pain subside just a bit. "You're back with us now, Doyle."

He is surprised once again by her compassion and sweetness and too foggy-headed to decipher what it means or if it even makes sense. Although, he is starting to think this death thing sounds a bit familiar, it still isn't a clear picture. There are a lot of holes to fill. One final question is pushed through his enflamed vocal chords, "You brought me back?"

Her eyes are wide and bright as she starts to go into soft focus, "I did."

He registers her response before letting himself slip back into the safety and painlessness of sleep.

* * *

"It's not good, Cordelia."

Cordelia leans in the open doorway of Doyle's room. She and Angel had stepped into the hallway where they could talk freely without disturbing Doyle's much-needed rest, but neither one of them wanted to go further than necessary. If he should wake up again, they wanted him to see the reassuring faces of his two best, and arguably only, friends.

"What exactly did she tell you?" Cordelia asks, trying to make sense of the issue Angel was apparently trying to skirt around.

It made sense that he'd call Buffy for advice in this situation—not that he needed an excuse to call Buffy. But, as someone who had recently been brought back from the great beyond, she could have a lot of useful information on what Doyle would be going through and more importantly, how best they could help him through it.

"Coming back, being ripped out of heaven… she didn't ask for it. She didn't want it."

Cordelia chews her lip, wishing that they had stopped to think about this before bringing Doyle back. No, scratch that, the selfish part of her -though not as obvious as it once was- told her that she would've brought him back anyway. Not unless she knew for certain that he didn't want to come. And, even then, she would've liked the opportunity to convince him otherwise.

"He doesn't even remember dying, Angel. Maybe he won't remember what came after." She points out.

"I think things will probably come back to him over time."

"Okay, but this is you and me. People he… _cares_ about. You don't think he's happy to see us?"

Angel shifts his weight, looking up at the light fixture above his head. It's hard to meet Cordelia's eyes right now. Buffy had told him a lot of things; not all of them she wanted him to share. And none of it was easy for him to hear. It wouldn't be any easier for Cordelia to hear as it pertained to Doyle. "That might not be enough. In fact, it might make it worse."

"What does that mean?"

"She resents them, Cordelia. Buffy resents her friends for bringing her back. Willow, Xander. Even though she loves them, she blames them."

"Oh." Cordelia takes that in, staring down at her feet.

"She's trying, but it's hard for her to reconnect with… _anyone_. There's a numbness she can't get rid of."

Cordelia absorbs his words, nodding slowly and finally raises her head to meet his gaze. "Do you think we made a mistake? That _I_ made a mistake?"

Angel turns his head to see Doyle sleeping in the background. He doesn't think it is a mistake to have his best friend back. He only hopes Doyle doesn't disagree.

"If you hadn't done it... I would have."

* * *

Cordelia passes a cold glass of water to Doyle's outstretched hand, which she notices is trembling slightly. As he takes the glass from her he almost drops it, but catches himself and successfully raises it to his mouth without any further assistance.

After over three days, his fever had finally broken and he had awoken with a clearer sense of his surroundings. He hadn't said all that much, aside from clarifying that he remembered what they told him before—he had been dead, and now he wasn't. Aside from that he had listened while Angel and Cordelia explained that the hotel room he lay in is part of Angel Investigations' base of operations. And that right downstairs the other members of the team are taking care of business and very eager to meet him, whenever he feels up to it.

He removes the glass from his lips. His voice is still raspier than normal. "I know it's fascinatin' watching me drink water, but y'think you could ease up on the staring, darlin'? Making me feel self-conscious-like."

Cordelia drops her eyes in embarrassment, "Sorry."

She had been staring. Ever since she saw him lying there on the floor of the lobby, every move he made, or didn't make, _was_ fascinating to her. But, she doesn't want to make him feel like an animal in a zoo.

"I get it. Not every day you have a dead guy sitting in front of ya." He tilts his head, thinking about what he had just said, "Actually, it's probably most days. I hope Angel gives you the weekends off at least?"

She wants to ask what it was like to be dead, but in light of the things Buffy had told Angel, she figures it might be better not to focus on what happened between his death and resurrection. The best thing she can do for him is to make sure he knows how glad she is to have him back—how much he means to her.

"I missed you." She says, capturing him in her intense gaze once more. She knows she's not supposed to stare, but she decides that it's necessary for him to see how sincere she is. She raises her eyes back to where he is propped up in the bed, "You have no idea how much."

He doesn't say anything at first, but she can see that her words have an effect him. "If you're trying to make me feel better about the whole being dead thing… well, I should tell ya that it's working."

He smiles, but it quickly turns into a grimace. She leans forward in concern, "Are you okay?"

He shakes it off, but she can see that his body is still very tense. "Ah, nothin' a good single-malt won't fix." She watches as he adjusts himself in the bed, struggling to sit up a little straighter.

"Maybe you should lie back down?"

"I've had enough lying down. I need to get out of this bed." He fingers his red button-down shirt with disgust. "And, not to scandalize you or anything, but I really need to get out of these clothes. Bad enough that I died in 'em, now I sweat through 'em for days."

He slowly swings his legs over to the side of the bed, and pushes off his arms, not quite making it to a standing position before crashing back down heavily.

"Doyle, take it slow." Angel says as he enters the front door. As luck would have it, he is carrying a change of clothes for Doyle in a bundle under his arm. They are not actually Doyle's clothes, seeing as he has none. Angel places them near the bathroom door and crosses toward the bed.

"Slow is the only way I can take it." Doyle replies, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. "But trust me when I say, it is imperative that I get to a shower."

Cordelia had been hovering near the edge of the bed, ready to catch him, if need be. As Angel approaches, she steps back a little, hoping that he could convince Doyle not to over do it.

"Let me help you." Angel says, reaching out a hand to his friend.

Doyle waves it away, "Just give me a minute. Not quite ready to have my manliness called into question."

Angel turns and looks toward Cordelia, giving her a subtle nod toward the front door. She doesn't want to leave, but knows that Angel's right. Regardless of how comfortable she feels being close to Doyle after three days of nursing him back to health, there were certain things she had left in Angel's hands, and Doyle would probably prefer that to remain the case.

"Are you hungry?" She asks brightly, moving slowly toward the foot of the bed. "Why don't I go get you some food?"

"I wasn't kidding about the single-malt." Doyle replied, "But if you wanna grab a burger and fries with that, I'll take it."

She smiles reassuringly, "I won't be long." With that she left his sight for the first time since he'd come back to her.

Once Cordelia had closed the door behind her, Angel turns back toward Doyle, offering his hand once more.

"Nah, I really do need a minute. I appreciate you sending her away, though. All her hovering is making me anxious."

Angel takes a seat beside the bed, "She missed you. And she wants to help you get better."

"She did mention that. The missing me bit." Doyle shakes his head in mild disbelief and lifts his hand to his temple, rubbing it tentatively. "It's a real trip, man. I went to sleep and woke up in some bizarro-world where Cordelia actually likes me."

Angel cracks a smile, sitting back in his chair. "She liked you before."

"She liked giving me a hard time before." Doyle gives Angel a look that says he knows Doyle's right.

"Is that what it was like?" Angel asks, steering toward the subject he is most curious about. "Like you were asleep?"

Doyle shrugs, lifting the glass of water from the bedside table and taking a large gulp. His hand still trembles, but he manages. He puts the glass back down and slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a sweat-stained off-white tank top beneath. "Something like that. I don't really remember, so I guess that's like sleeping, yeah?"

Angel ponders that for a moment, "You remember what came before?"

Doyle visibly grimaces as he removes the red shirt and tosses it beside him on the bed. "The beacon. Yeah, I remember." He meets Angel's eyes to punctuate his next words, "Hurt like hell."

"You saved everyone. You saved _me_."

"If you're about to thank me, please don't." Doyle says, cutting short Angel's words of gratitude. "You know better than anyone why I did what I did. Let's just call it even, yeah?"

Angel nods in agreement. Things weren't "even," but having Doyle back meant that someday they might be.

Doyle leans forward, preparing himself to try and stand again. Angel rises, offering his hand for a third time. Doyle looks at it hesitantly and then morphs into demon form, "You mind if I just…?" He motions to his altered appearance.

"You know that I don't."

With his demon strength, Doyle is able to stand and walk unaided. He pauses at the window, peaking underneath the curtain, before turning toward the bathroom. "No offense, man, but I think can take it from here."


	5. Chapter 5: Emergence

***** CHAPTER 5 *****

Cordelia had to admit, after 72 hours of sitting inside Doyle's dark, stuffy hotel room, it feels good to be in the smoggy L.A. air.

She had been reluctant to leave the hotel at first, but the thought of going to her apartment, using her own shower and choosing her own clothes had won out in the end. No offense to Gunn, but he wasn't an authority on women's fashion. He wasn't even an apprentice on women's fashion. While she appreciated having clean clothes to change into, she wouldn't want to be caught dead in them—or caught in them at all.

Plus, she knew that Doyle probably needed some time alone to process things. He was being a pretty good sport so far, but she could tell that there was a lot bubbling beneath the surface.

Groo had been at her apartment when she arrived, glued to her television set. She had to remember to thank Gunn for showing him how it worked. Needless to say, he found infomercials to be endlessly entertaining and had been eager to inform her about the wonders of Oxyclean,"for those hard-to-remove demon-blood stains."

She had hoped he might want to stay behind and also learn about the fabulous Fitness Flyer, but he was all too eager to rejoin her on the way back to the Hyperion. As he chattered on about a great deal she could receive on Tupperware, she was partially relieved that he was being such a good sport about her absence the last few days, and partially annoyed that _he_ wasn't annoyed. Any normal person would have read her the riot act, which just showed her how abnormal Groo was. He was loyal and brave and kind and nice to look at, but he would never refuse her, never question her, never have an opinion of his own.

Cordelia knew she was being terribly unfair to him—taking him for granted, even. She didn't want to be that type of person, but Doyle's return had turned her world upside down. Or, maybe, it had been turned right side up again, after being upside down for so long? So many feelings were stirred up that she hadn't even known were still there. In light of that, it was probably no surprise that she'd been single for as long as she had.

At one point, she had felt ready to go for it—to be in a real relationship again—with Groo, specifically. She knew she was long overdue and there was nothing stopping her. And then she'd laid eyes on Doyle again, first in her vision and then in the flesh. Suddenly, Groo's love no longer appealed to her, instead it started to make her feel guilty. She realized it was foolish and impulsive to declare that she loved him back in Pylea, but it had made sense at the time. She already carried so much regret for missing out on her chance to say that to a certain _other_ half-demon. Perhaps, she had overcompensated…

As Groo follows at her heels, carrying several bags of In-N-Out burgers and fries for Doyle, she decides that she has to be honest with him. She has to tell him what was once a sure-thing is now a maybe-thing or a probably-not thing. Whether he sticks around after that is entirely up to him, but at least she won't have to feel like she's leading him on.

Upon entering the front doors of the Hyperion, Cordelia is surprised to see Angel standing at the elevator doors. She quickly understands why, as Doyle steps out. He is wearing a dark-blue button-down with a white t-shirt visible underneath and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; it doesn't seem to be a bad fit. The jeans, on the other hand, are obviously too long, with substantial cuffs at the bottom. Clothes aside, he doesn't look too sure of himself as he takes in the expansive lobby and the curious faces peering from across the room.

He walks slowly as if every step is a concerted effort, but he doesn't look in danger of collapsing. Whether that is the actual case or he's just putting on a good show is anyone's guess. Cordelia guesses it's the latter. He keeps his hands firmly in his pockets as Angel leads him to the counter where Wesley, Gunn, Fred and Lorne are all lined up.

"Doyle, this is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, former member of the Watcher's Council and invaluable source of demon-related knowledge."

Doyle nods toward Wes without removing his hands from his pockets, "Hey, thanks for the clothes, man."

"Of course. So glad to meet you." Wes replies, giving Doyle a reciprocating nod.

Angel continues down the line. "And this is Charles Gunn. We just call him Gunn. Good guy to have your back in a fight."

"As long as it's your back and not mine, yeah?" Doyle directs his comment to Angel with a smirk.

"Fred Burkle." Fred gives a wave and a smile as Angel continues; "She joined the team a few months ago."

"Fresh from a demonic dimension that I was accidentally sucked into through a portal." She adds eagerly. "I lived in a cave and had some sanity-related issues for a while, but I'm doing much better now." She pauses, realizing all eyes are on her, including Doyle's very puzzled ones. "If you ever need to talk, I know a thing or two about readjusting." She adds nervously, as an afterthought.

"Ah, lovely to meet you, Fred. I'll keep that in mind." Doyle says politely, rather charmed by her oddness.

Angel gestures to Lorne at the far end of the counter. "I think you already know Lorne. Unfortunately, Caritas is no longer with us."

"Good to see you, Lorne. Sorry about your place."

"Ah, bars come and go. Some are blown to hell." Lorne replies nonchalantly. "We'll have to have a celebratory cocktail when you're feeling up to it. Maybe sing a few tunes."

"I'm always up for that." Doyle replies with a grin.

A small cry from behind the counter causes Lorne to look down. He reaches into the bassinet and brings Connor into view, passing him across to Angel. "I think someone else wants to be introduced."

Angel takes the baby, holding him in the crook of his arm so Doyle can get a good look. "Uh, Doyle, this… is my son, Connor."

Doyle's eyebrows skyrocket to their fullest height. He takes a beat to think about what Angel just said. "Uh… I know I told you to engage with the human world and all, but you could've started with a puppy. You adopted a kid?!"

"Not adopted. Long story." Angel replies, shifting the baby in his arms.

"I'd imagine it'd have to be." Doyle says, giving Connor a closer look, pointing to a little tuft of hair sticking up at an odd angle. "I think I see the resemblance."

Angel smiles proudly, not catching the joke at his expense. "You do? I think he looks more like his mom."

"Well, hey there, Connor." Doyle wiggles his fingers in front of the baby. "You've got a good Irish name there. I approve."

Angel glances over toward Cordelia and Groo, who had placed the bags of food down and approached the front-side of the counter, quietly observing all the introductions. Doyle follows the direction of Angel's eyes and turns his body around to face the two of them. He immediately focuses on Groo, probably noticing his bulging muscles and close proximity to Cordelia.

He looks over to her expectantly, waiting for the introduction. She flashes him an uncomfortable smile as she pats Groo on the shoulder. "Doyle, this is the Groosalugg."

Groo steps forward, stretching his hand out,"Groosalugg means undefeated champion in Pylean. You may call me Groo, just as my princess does."

Doyle stares blankly at the hand offered to him, but then slowly reaches out and shakes it. He looks like he is in physical pain, hunching over and grimacing slightly as he makes Groo's acquaintance. No one is sure if it's from Groo's rough handshake or from hearing the words "my princess" fall from his lips. Either way, Doyle looks a little greener, even though he hadn't morphed into his other face.

To Doyle's credit, he recovers quickly, "Firm handshake there, buddy." He shoves his hand back into his pocket and steps back. "Always happy to meet a champion of Cordelia's." He turns to the others, taking in all the new faces and finally turns his gaze on Angel first and finally Cordelia, lingering there for a moment.

"I, uh… well, it's great to meet everyone and I appreciate all you've done to aid in my resurrection. If ya don't mind, I'll be taking my leave for a bit. Getting my bearings in the outside world… and possibly some clothes that fit."

Simultaneously, Angel passes the baby back over to Lorne and Cordelia side-steps so she is blocking Doyle's direct path to the front doors.

"I'll go with you." Cordelia says enthusiastically. Angel speaks over her, "We can take my car."

Doyle's head turns from one friend to the other, not sure who he'll be disappointing more. "I was thinkin' I might go this one alone, guys." He steps back, holding up his arms to keep them from pursuing.

"But, what if you get lost or mugged or need a second opinion on one of those hideous shirts you love so much?" Cordelia protests.

Angel tries a slightly different approach, "Doyle, are you sure you don't want to wait until, y'know… you're a little stronger?"

Doyle continues back-peddling toward the front doors, giving his worried friends a semi-convincing smile, "I'm stronger than I look, yeah?"

"But, you don't even have a cell phone. What if you need to call us?" Cordelia's final plea sounds as desperate to her ears as it did in her head.

"I got around L.A. just fine before I met you two. I think I can manage." With that he makes it to the front door and yanks it open.

"Wait!" Angel calls, running over to him. He pulls out his wallet and hands a few bills over to Doyle. "For new clothes."

"Thanks, man." He says, shoving the bills in his borrowed pocket and exiting into the warm evening air without another look back.

As Angel walks back toward Cordelia, he sees her eyes fill with disappointment. He shares her feelings, but gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "He just needs some time to himself, Cordelia. He'll be fine."

He turns to the others, "It's been a long week. You should all go home. Go out. Enjoy the evening."

As they all slowly shuffle off to collect their belongings and make dinner plans, he sees Groo poking through one of the In-N-Out bags. He pulls out a French fry and sniffs it curiously. Liking what he smells, he eats the fry and immediately digs in for more.

Angel turns back toward Cordelia who is still focused on the front doors. "That goes for you, too, Cordelia. Take Groo and go home. Doyle will still be here tomorrow. And I'll be here waiting for him tonight."

* * *

Doyle quickly crosses through the front courtyard of the Hyperion and exits to the sidewalk. He is unsteady on his feet and desperate to find a location without too many prying eyes. He looks left and then right. Luckily, he chooses the right direction and soon finds the alley behind the hotel that affords him the privacy he seeks.

As he leans against the brick wall next to a dumpster, he morphs into his demon form and catches his breath. He slowly lowers himself to the ground and sits propped up against the wall with his legs extended in front of him.

 _Just breathe, Doyle. Just breathe._

* * *

Angel sits in one of the large, plush chairs in the Hyperion lobby reading a book. It's well after midnight and stillness has settled over the hotel. Under normal circumstances, Angel would have enjoyed the peace and quiet. As it was, he was too busy listening for Doyle to enjoy much of anything.

The front doors open and Doyle stumbles in reeking of Scotch and tobacco. Angel isn't entirely surprised by this development. What he does find surprising is that Doyle is wearing his demon form.

Angel sits up straight, shutting his book audibly to announce his presence in the room. Doyle looks over to where Angel sits. If he's surprised to see him there, he doesn't say. He saunters lazily to the center of the lobby and plops himself onto the large circular sofa. "Ya shouldn't have waited up."

"I'm a vampire, remember? We stay up late." Angel keeps his voice even, betraying none of the worries he was feeling prior to Doyle's arrival. "How was your walk?"

Doyle lifts a paper bag in his left hand and a plastic one in his right. "Liquor store. Thrift shop. Got all the bare essentials. And I made a nice little bet on the way back. Hope you didn't want your change."

"Getting back to your old habits. Except for the…" Angel motions toward his own face to indicate that Doyle is still wearing his spikey one. "I thought that wasn't your style."

"Maybe it's time for a new look?" He arches a brow, which gets a little lost amongst all the quills. "Nah, it's just keeping me from falling over. I don't really have the strength to be walkin' around otherwise."

Angel gets up from his chair and walks into the back office. When he returns he has left his book behind and instead carries two empty glasses. "Want to share whatever you have in the paper bag?"

"Thought you'd never ask, man."

Angel sits next to Doyle on the sofa and passes him one of the glasses. Doyle pulls a bottle of whiskey out of the paper bag, fills Angel's glass and then fills his own. "Here's to being undead." With that, he downs the drink.

Angel does the same and watches as Doyle refills both glasses. After finishing off his second glass, Doyle finally morphs into human form and relaxes into the back of the sofa. "You live somewhere in the hotel, yeah? "

"I do." Angel replies, leaning back to match Doyle's posture. "Room 312."

"And Cordelia? She lives here, too?"

"No, she still has the apartment you helped her find."

Doyle seems pleased with that bit of information.

"Fred and Lorne live here. I think Gunn does, too." Angel adds, rounding out the complete picture.

"You think?" Doyle questions.

"Hard to keep track sometimes." Angel admits. "The rest of the place is empty."

"That Fred is a real trip. Where was it she said she lived? Something about a cave in a hell dimension?"

Angel puts his empty glass down beside him. "Pylea. It's Lorne's home-world. And Groo's. Demons are superior life forms. Humans are treated like cattle. Vampires don't burst into flames when they stand in direct sunlight—that last part was great, by the way."

Doyle's eyes widen with intrigue, "You should really consider a summer home there. How'd she come to live here?"

"She came back with us after we rescued Cordelia." Angel grins at the memory of finding Cordelia on her throne. "Although, it wasn't much of a rescue. We got there and Cordelia was living it up as their Princess."

"Well, that figures." Doyle laughs. "Leave it to Cordelia to get an entire hell dimension to worship her. Sounds like I'd fit in well there."

"You would. People with visions…" Angel cuts himself off, quickly realizing that Doyle has no clue Cordelia now possesses his visions. He is not terribly eager to spill the proverbial beans.

Doyle is distracted by a different thought, he barely notices Angel held something back "So, that's where she met that Groosalugg fella'? When he called her 'my princess' he was being literal."

Angel regrets not segueing to the vision talk instead, "Uh… yeah. Yes." He takes a sip from his glass.

"Geez, Angel. Demon got your tongue? I saw the big hunk of undefeated champion in the flesh. I know she's moved on. I'm not surprised she didn't spend years mourning the loss of a short, poorly dressed, half-demon who kissed her once before leaping to his untimely death." Doyle raises his brows and finishes his drink to punctuate his sentence. "Although, that guy's really not an upgrade in the wardrobe department, now is he?" Doyle says, grimacing from the burning alcohol in his throat.

"You were important to her." Angel replies. "She had a really rough time after you died." Doyle waves off his friend's assurances, a sign that he is just being his usual self-deprecating self. "There are a lot of things Cordelia should probably tell you herself." Angel concludes.

Doyle gives Angel a curious look before adding, "Just tell me one thing, man. Is she happy with the guy?"

Angel decides honesty is the best policy, "I thought so…" He answers Doyle's questioning gaze with a pointed look, insinuating that things had changed. "Like I said, there are things she should tell you."

Angel can see his friend struggling with the possible implication of his words. Doyle puts aside his empty glass and takes a swig directly from the bottle of whiskey.

They sit in silence for a long moment, Angel decides the only other question that matters is the one he's been obsessing about all night, "Doyle, I know this isn't easy for you. Coming back like this. Are you… gonna be okay? Not just tonight. I mean, in general."

Doyle stares at the amber colored liquid in his bottle, rolling it around a bit and watching it swirl. He clears his throat, "Truth is, I don't know yet."

Angel studies his friend intensely, appreciating his honesty and wanting to help him in any way possible. He wants him to know he won't be alone through any of this.

"Buffy died." Angel says.

"Oh God, man. I'm sorry. I didn't see her, if that's what you're asking."

"She was in heaven. Is that where you were?"

"I toldya, I don't remember where I was. And what are you sayin'? She came back, too?"

Angel nods, "A few months ago. She told me how hard it is to reconnect with people. How numb she feels."

"Numb, huh?" Doyle asks, bowing his head toward his lap so Angel can no longer read his expression. "From heaven to the Hellmouth. That's quite a comedown. Numb might be a blessing in that case."

"Maybe you two should talk sometime."

"You trying to start a support group for the recently deceased?"

"It might help."

"Thanks, man, but no thanks. I don't know if Buffy and I had quite the same experience."


	6. Chapter 6: Splitting Threads

***** CHAPTER 6 *****

Cordelia breezes through the front entrance of the Hyperion. She is earlier than usual, probably because she had gone to bed absurdly early the night before. She was supposed to have gone to dinner with Groo and had a serious talk with him about the future of their relationship. But instead, she had barely made it from the shower to her bedroom before falling into a deep sleep, which lasted the whole night. As was the way with Groo, he had taken his place on her couch dutifully and without question. He was still sleeping when she left, so she'd scribbled a note that she'd be back in a bit and went on her merry way.

And merry it is.

Cordelia notices two empty glasses and an almost-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. She smiles to herself as she removes the items from public view. She's relieved to see that Doyle had returned to the hotel safely and also glad that he and Angel had probably spent the evening catching up. She is looking forward to her own chance to do the same.

She busies herself, tidying up the office and making coffee. There's an undeniable spring in her step this morning and she's under no false impressions as to the reason why. She hums happily to herself as she spins around…coming face-to-face with a hideous creature vaguely resembling a T-Rex, except a whole lot slimier. "Great." She says aloud, deflating slightly. "Ugh… I wonder if we can slay this guy with a breath mint." She waves away the stink of the vision, grabs a sketchpad and a demonology index, and begins prepping for the rest of the team to arrive.

By the time Doyle comes downstairs, Fred and Wes have already arrived and are hard at work in research-mode. Doyle walks gingerly down the stairs and saunters slowly to the front counter. His bloodshot eyes would betray his hangover, even if he wasn't walking like he'd recently been hit by a Mack Truck. Fred, who is seated at the far end of the counter, cheerily greets him. "Good Morning, Doyle!"

He winces at the volume, but smiles all the same, "Morning to you there, Fred."

Cordelia greets him at the other side of the counter, slightly more subdued. She offers a bottle of aspirin with one hand and a mug of coffee with the other. "Liquid or solid?"

"Both." He pauses rubbing his aching head and then gestures to the piping hot beverage she had just placed before him. "Please tell me your coffee-making skills have improved in the past two years, darlin'?"

She cocks her head at him, in mock-confusion, "I thought you liked it when I re-use the coffee grounds?"

He cautiously takes a small first sip and then his eyebrows lift in appreciation. He turns his head toward Fred, noting the thick book of demonology she flips through. "Workin' a case? Or you just have a thing for… what is that ya got there? Ah… marrow-sucking demons. Yeah, those make most of the rest of 'em look like supermodels, don't they?"

Fred laughs and flips to the next page, "Hideous wouldn't be too strong a word. Unfortunately, I think the demon from the latest vision might be a close relation."

Doyle's brow arches in surprised curiosity, "Vision?"

Cordelia had been standing at the coffee maker pouring herself a cup, but turns quickly at the mention of visions. She catches Fred's eye, shaking her head vigorously… and then proceeds to spill coffee down the front of her blouse. "Oh, _crap_."

"You mean the Powers That Be saddled some other poor sap with my old gig?" Doyle's question is directed at Fred, who having seen Cordelia's reaction is suddenly very unsure how to answer this particular question. "Um…no. I mean… someone… " She looks over to Cordelia, pleading for assistance.

Doyle turns toward Cordelia as well, appearing incredibly amused. "Stop being so dramatic, Cordy. If there was one benefit to dying it was gettin' rid of those god-awful, skull-crushing visions." He turns back toward Fred holding up his hand as he makes his conclusion. "It's that Gunn guy, yeah? He looks like he might have a little something to atone for."

Doyle's words are cut off by Wesley who enters the room, his head buried in a book. "Cordelia, can you take a look at this Mok-Q'ruk Demon and see if it matches your vision? I think…" He looks up and sees Doyle, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. How are you feeling today, Doyle?"

Doyle's face had gotten considerably paler upon hearing Wesley's words. His eyes dart from the Englishman to Cordelia, first in confusion and then in blind panic. "No! No, no, no."

Cordelia deflates slightly, this wasn't exactly the way she had wanted to explain things to him. She plasters on her bravest smile and leans opposite him across the counter, "Doyle, it's okay."

He isn't just surprised anymore, he is angry, "The hell it is, Cordelia! Why would the Powers That Be do this? You didn't deserve it."

Wes and Fred exchange uncomfortable glances before making themselves scarce. They quickly retreat to the back office.

"Doyle." Cordelia says, reaching out for his hands, which he rapidly pulls away, removing them from the counter and stepping backwards. She doesn't pursue and instead waits patiently for him to settle down.

Doyle agitatedly shakes his head, reaching one hand out to brace himself against the edge of the counter. "If I knew that was gonna happen, maybe I wouldn't have jumped to my death after all. What good's a noble sacrifice if your friends are the ones who've gotta suffer for it?"

She rounds the counter slowly, taking a deep breath as she moves to stand in front of him. "Doyle, I have to tell you something. I need you to stop freaking out and just listen, okay?"

He lifts his eyes to meet hers, she can still see the anger wavering there. "I'm listening."

"The Powers That Be didn't choose me. _You_ chose me."

The anger in Doyle's eyes breaks like a wave, "No, Cordy…"

"Yes, Doyle. When you kissed me, you gave me your visions. And I know you can't understand this, because you considered the visions a punishment—and trust me, when I first got them, I was feeling pretty punished myself—but, they weren't a punishment for me. They were a gift."

His face is etched in pain and his voice becomes hoarse with sadness. "That's not the type of gift I wanted to give ya."

"I know." She sighs, reaching out to mirror his position against the counter. "I'm not gonna lie and say they didn't hurt or that I didn't try and get rid of them at first. Hell, I kissed everyone within a 5-mile radius that first day. And I do mean _everyone_ -Angel, Wesley, even some random demon guy." She gives a little shudder. "Not my finest hour."

Doyle opens his mouth at her comment, but she continues before he can interrupt her. "But, then a funny thing happened. That demon guy, Barney, abducted me and auctioned me off for my eyeballs…"

"That's a funny thing?" Doyle squawks, looking like he is quite convinced she's lost her mind.

"He made me realize that you had left me your most valuable possession. And that even though you were gone, I would always carry a part of you with me."

"And that was a part you wanted?" Doyle asks in disbelief.

"It was all we had left, Doyle. I wouldn't have traded it for the world." Cordelia says wholeheartedly, letting the strength of her words land.

The look on his face reminds her of her own expression years before when he had saved her life. She steps a little closer to him, drawn in by the admiration in his eyes. Doyle swallows audibly, clearly touched by her words. "Thank you for sayin' that."

They are locked in each other's gaze for a moment, communicating without words. She feels something she hasn't felt in years. Something very familiar…

The moment is broken as the front doors swing open and Gunn storms through them. "The cavalry has arrived." He gestures to Groo who appears behind him in the doorway. "I stopped by your place and picked up our extra muscle. If this latest beastie is as gruesome as you say, I think we're gonna need all the help we can get."

Cordelia is frozen in place with a false smile hiding her disappointment, "That was… great thinking."

She turns to see that Doyle has already moved several feet away from her toward the center of the lobby. "Doyle…" his name escapes her lips reflexively.

He turns back toward her and motions toward the office, "I think you've got work to do, love. The good fight won't wait."

She watches him disappear behind the closing elevator doors.

* * *

Cordelia enters her apartment and removes her soiled sweatshirt. She considers taking Groo's advice about the Oxyclean as she studies the demon blood that is sure to leave a stain. She looks over at the valiant half-demon who had saved all their asses this evening. It was a good thing he was there.

"Thanks again for helping tonight, Groo. We couldn't have done it without you."

His dark eyes light up at her praise, "I am glad that I could be of service, my princess."

His words send a pang of guilt straight through her. She closes her eyes, bracing herself for something long overdue, "Listen Groo… we need to talk."

"I would like that."

Cordelia cringes at his enthusiastic reply. Any half-human who had been raised on earth would've recognized her words for the pending-breakup they are. She sits heavily on the couch and pats the space beside her. He obediently joins her there and then takes her by complete surprise. "You wish to tell me about your former lover?"

Cordelia's jaw hangs slightly ajar as she struggles to find her voice, "My what now?"

"Doyle. I see that his return has caused your heart to be torn." Apparently, Groo isn't as clueless as he seems.

"Oh." Her heart sinks deeper into her chest. "I'm sorry, Groo. I've been so unfair to you."

"If it is your desire, I shall step aside so that you two may be reunited."

"Doyle and I…I don't know…" She breathes out, clearing her head and starting over. She turns toward Groo, taking his hands in her own, "I wanted to be with you, Groo. When you first showed up here, I was ready to be yours."

"And I, yours, Princess." He replies earnestly.

"But, you're right. My feelings did change when Doyle came back." Thinking about Doyle causes her chest to ache in a different way. When he calls her Princess, it sounds so different. "When he was alive, he was my friend. We never had the chance to become lovers… but _we wanted to_." Admitting that out loud feels good, even if she isn't admitting it to the right person.

Confusion flashes across Groo's face, "But… how is it that you came to bear Doyle's visions, if you were never his lover?"

"All it took was a kiss." She replies, reflecting back on the brief moment that changed the course of her entire life.

Groo sits back, visibly deflated by this revelation. "He must have loved you very much."

Those words hit Cordelia at her core. Her heart is not torn. Letting Groo think otherwise is inexcusable. "Yes, he did. And if I'm being honest… I hope that he still does."

"He would be a foolish man to refuse your love, my princess."

She leans forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. She sits back, placing her hands on his broad shoulders so she can look him directly in the eyes, "You are an amazing man, Groo. You deserve so much more than I've given you. In fact…" Her expression changes to one of chastisement, "Don't you dare let anyone else treat you the way I did, okay? You should have a woman who worships you the way you worship her. Got it?"

He smiles sadly at her, "I shall do as my princess wishes."

They stand up together and Groo heads for the door. "Oh, Groo, it's late. You don't have to leave right now. You can stay here for the night and I can drop you at the bus station in the morning."

He stops at the door and turns back toward her, bowing his head. "Thank you. I just have one question… what is a bus station?"


	7. Chapter 7: Ripples

***** CHAPTER 7 *****

Cordelia is seated at the front counter of the lobby quietly observing the scene taking place a mere 15 feet away from her. Doyle and Fred are seated on the circular sofa with Gunn standing in front of them. All three are in hysterics… which really bugs her.

She should be happy to see Doyle enjoying himself—and she is. But, she is finding it endlessly frustrating that he can be so easygoing and carefree with people who are little more than strangers to him, while being so tense around her.

It had been a few days since Groo left and Cordelia had been anxious to reconnect with Doyle without any distractions. Instead, she found that she never had a moment alone with him, either because he intended it to be that way, or because he genuinely wanted to get to know everyone else. She had to admit, she wasn't used to having to share him. Back in the day, she'd spent countless hours alone with Doyle. Whether they were sitting together in the office, hiding out from something trying to kill them, grabbing drinks or dismembering demons in the sewer tunnels, it was always the two of them alone together while Angel was off doing the more dangerous work. All that aside, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was purposely keeping his distance from her. Not necessarily avoiding her, but _literally_ keeping his distance. As in, making sure that he was never in a position where he could be cornered. Never close enough to touch.

Cordelia cheats another glance in his direction and notes that he is sitting a good distance away from Fred on the sofa, and the only reason that doesn't seem awkward is because Gunn stands before them centering out the scene. Cordelia wishes that could make her feel better, but it's hardly the same. Unlike Fred, who had just met him, Cordelia was one of only two people that had been close to him before he died.

Speaking of the other person who was close to him… Cordelia is especially jealous that Doyle and Angel's bromance had been restored to its former glory without hesitation. Every night since Doyle had gotten out of bed, the two of them had spent time talking and drinking. Maybe one of these nights she'd have to crash their little party.

Actually, there was one moment when he had approached her in semi-private… unfortunately, all he had wanted to ask was if she kept in touch with Harriet, his ex-wife. Cordelia had felt a pang of jealousy, but it quickly subsided as she realized what she had to tell him about Harry was liable to hurt him. He actually took the news that Harry had eventually remarried quite well, but when Cordelia added that she was also expecting her first child, she could see a flash of pain in his eyes. When she offered him Harry's phone number and address, he had declined, saying he didn't think it was right to intrude on her life right now. Cordelia had disagreed, insisting that Harry would be ecstatic to know that Doyle is living and breathing, but she couldn't make him call Harry if he didn't want to, and she had no intentions of going around his back.

Cordelia looks up to see Angel descending the stairs with Connor in his arms. This is her chance to get up from her self-imposed exile and join the others in the center of the room. She crosses to Angel and reaches out to take the baby. "Give me that little munchkin, "she says, kissing Connor's pudgy little cheek.

"Where's Wes?" Angel asks, settling Connor into her arms.

"In his office, muttering about some prophecy or another. Pretty much the usual." She replies.

Angel makes no comment at that, turning toward the others who are still giggling to themselves. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing." Fred replies, giggling even harder. Gunn is trying so hard not to laugh, he's sputtering a bit. Doyle merely smirks.

"Doyle, what did you tell them?" Angel asks, feigning annoyance.

Doyle shrugs, "I just happened to mention your warm, fuzzy side, that's all."

"Yeah, we're really bummed you didn't make the group hugs a permanent thing." Gunn cracks.

Angel narrows his eyes. "Is this about the time I got whammied by that talking stick?"

Cordelia is smiling at the memory of Angel wanting to talk about his feelings and feeling shy about going vamp face in front of she and Doyle. She also recalls Kate Lockley's astute observations about them while she was under the influence of the spell.

Cordelia's field of vision is taken over by an actual vision. Thankfully, she doesn't lose her grip on the baby as the horrific scene plays out before her—dozens of teenagers ripped to shreds right before her eyes. So much blood.

"You guys, I hate to interrupt…"

Before she can finish her sentence, Doyle's head jerks back violently and he simultaneously morphs into his demon form. The force of the unseen blow is enough to knock him off the sofa and onto the floor. While Gunn steps back in shock, both Angel and Cordelia leap forward to help, although Cordelia can't reach out to him with Connor in her arms.

Angel reaches him first, extending a hand out to grip Doyle's arm and help him back up. The scream that emanates from his lips sends Angel recoiling. "Don't touch me!"

Doyle remains in his demon form as he sits upright, breathing heavily. Angel has backed off, but hovers nearby, clearly concerned about this turn of events. Doyle looks up to see the four very concerned faces staring down at him as he morphs back into his human form.

"Doyle, was that a vision?" Angel asks uneasily.

Doyle doesn't speak, merely shaking his head in the affirmative. He swallows hard and covers his face with his hands, trying to get his bearings. From his hunched posture, he is clearly still in physical distress.

"I just had a vision, too." Cordelia speaks up, not taking her eyes off Doyle's crumbled form.

Gunn points from Cordelia to Doyle, "Wait, you both had a vision at the same time? Did the Powers That Be get their wires crossed or something?"

"Somethin' got crossed." Doyle moans from the floor, still covering his face. When he finally looks up, his face is flushed with pain. "That was like one giant _wrecking ball_ to my cerebral cortex."

"What did you see?" Fred asks timidly, leaning over the edge of the sofa to see Doyle. "I mean… did you both see the same thing? Or was it two different visions?"

Doyle meets Cordelia's eyes as he says, "Nest of vamps in Griffith Park…"

"…getting ready to feast on a bunch of drunk teenagers." She confirms. "Same vision."

Angel had been crouching beside Doyle, but now he stands and paces a little, "Maybe Gunn is right… Doyle, this is the first vision you've had since you've been back, right?"

"Yeah." Doyle replies unhappily.

"You felt nothing when Cordelia had her last vision a few days ago?"

Doyle thinks, "Now that you mention it, I did have a helluva headache that morning, but I just assumed it was the hangover."

"Nothing like this." Angel clarifies, gesturing to where Doyle is still seated on the floor.

"Not likely to miss somethin' like this, yeah?" Doyle confirms.

Cordelia catches on to Angel's line of thinking, "The difference between the last vision and this one is that we were in the same room."

"You're thinkin' the Powers That Be were sending Cordy a message and I accidentally received it as well." Doyle looks at Cordelia but directs his statement to Angel.

"Seems that way." Angel confirms.

Fred nods her head excitedly, "It makes sense if you think about it. Whatever vision-receptors Doyle had from before he died are probably still active, they're just not being sent a signal anymore. But, if he stands close enough to someone who _is_ receiving a signal—namely, Cordelia—then he can pick up on that signal as well. It's like feedback."

"That's my girl." Gunn says appreciatively. "Always using the sciencey logic."

"Well, the 'feedback' hurts worse than any regular vision, that's for sure." Doyle says rubbing his aching forehead. "It was like one huge jolt with the whole thing packed inside. Makes me yearn for the days of the more manageable drawn out agony."

Cordelia chews her lip nervously. This is not good. Doyle is already keeping his distance, the last thing he needs is an actual excuse to do so. "I'm so sorry," is all she can think to utter.

"Not your fault, Princess." Doyle replies, giving her an encouraging smile. He slowly and carefully lifts himself into a standing position and seems a little off-balance. Angel looks like he is tempted to steady his friend, but Doyle keeps a hand out in warning. "I'll be fine. Just got the wind knocked outta me. You'd better get on with saving those stupid kids. Sundown's coming fast."

Angel, Fred and Gunn head toward the back office to fill in Wesley. Cordelia stands in place, watching Doyle shuffle toward the elevators at the far end of the lobby. He is visibly in pain, but makes it to his destination and gives her a little wave before the doors close in front of him.

* * *

The moment the elevator doors close, Doyle reverts to his demon form and leans against the wall for support. When the doors finally reopen on his floor, he stands there unmoving. He eyes the doorway to his room halfway down the hall and is almost positive he can't make it there. He isn't even sure how he'd made it out of bed this morning, or made it through most of the day. And that vision… it just about killed him. Nah, death would be too easy at this point.

Somehow, his strength holds out and he makes it to the privacy of his own room. Locking the door behind him, he stumbles forward to the bed and collapses.

He lies there, hoping that he will lose consciousness.

* * *

Wesley sits alone in his office staring mindlessly at the pile of books and papers before him and wondering how everything had gotten so messy. On the surface, things might seem better than ever: Angel has a son! An old friend is back from the dead! However, underneath the shiny, happy surface, a web of doom is slowly expanding.

And no one seems to see it aside from him.

He could kick himself for letting Cordelia and Angel bring back Doyle before he'd had a chance to do further research. But, who is he kidding, there was nothing he could've done to stop them. They both would've taken certain danger, for the chance to have Doyle back in their lives. Even now, as he stares at the ominous words in faded-black and off-white text, he knows there is very little chance of them actually believing that Doyle's resurrection would directly bring about the apocalypse. He can hardly believe that himself. Truthfully, he rather likes Doyle and can't imagine that the unassuming Irishman could cause destruction to anything…other than himself, that is.

Wes had been watching Doyle for days now, secretly observing almost every move he made. Despite the fact that he tended to stay in his demon form when he thought no one else was watching, there was nothing that indicated he was up to no good. He certainly drank too much, but that only seemed further proof he was exactly who he claimed to be. There was nothing to indicate he was in cahoots with evil or even a harbinger of evil. The silver lining, if one could call it that, is that depending on interpretation, Doyle's return may simply be a mile marker on the way to the apocalypse, rather than the actual cause. Which was really only slightly comforting.

If all that wasn't bad enough, there was the slightly less apocalyptic prophecy, which would cause every bit as much devastation to the team if it came to fruition— _the father will kill the son._

"You're here late."

Angel's voice causes Wes to start. The downside of working for a creature of the night—he was both stealthy and a night owl.

"Oh, yes, well…" Wes quickly covers up his written notes, not wanting Angel to get the wrong idea. After all, many prophecies were of the self-fulfilling variety. "Sometimes there aren't enough hours in the day."

"I know a demon who can add a few extra ones." Angel says jokingly, arching a brow in Wes' direction.

"I'll keep that in mind if I'm ever in a pinch." Wes says, pushing his chair back and rising from behind his desk to be at Angel's eye level. "Is there something you needed?"

Angel folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the doorframe, "I wanted to ask you about Doyle."

Wes tries to keep his features unreadable, "What about him?"

"I know you don't know him very well, but, that might be a good thing in this case. You can be objective."

"You suspect him of something?"

Angel looks up sharply, studying Wes' vague expression. "No. Why?! What makes you say that?"

"Aside from the fact that he mysteriously returned from the dead?" Wes rebuts, keeping his voice calm and even. "What exactly are you asking, Angel?"

Angel's shoulders slump and he looks down at the tips of his shoes, "I had assumed he was in heaven. I mean, he died a heroic death; it would've made sense. But, the way he's been acting—jumping at the slightest touch, hitting the bottle even harder than he used to—I'm starting to wonder if he was tortured in a hell dimension or something like that. He still claims he doesn't remember anything, but I don't know if I believe that anymore."

Wes can understand Angel's concern. He steps closer to his vampire employer, folding his arms as well, "It is possible. We have no way of knowing where he was before he landed in our lobby. If you pulled Doyle from a hell dimension rather than heaven, then I should say he's very lucky to be here now."

"True. But, I know better than anyone what kind of damage those places can inflict. A person can be changed by them." Angel shudders at the memory of the century he'd spent being tortured in a hell dimension of his very own. "It might explain why he's… well, not exactly… he's just kinda..."

Wes doesn't understand Angel's hesitation. He proceeds carefully, not wanting to poke the bear, or in this case the vampire. "Regardless of where he was, did you expect him to come back and pick up right where he left off?"

"I didn't." Angel admits. "But Cordelia…"

Wes understands now that Angel's voicing concerns that are not necessarily his own. "She is having trouble with the adjustment period."

"The whole night while we were slaying vampires all she could talk about was whether or not Doyle has PTSD… or worse. I don't know what to tell her."

Wes searches Angel's face for a hint of his own feelings, "And what about you? Do you share her concerns? Or are you simply concerned on her behalf?"

"His death was violent, bound to leave scars. Not to mention the world kept turning without him for two years. It's unrealistic to think he would be exactly the same man he was before." Angel says matter-of-factly. "But, he's trying very hard to be."

"So, you don't think there's a problem." Wes surmises.

"There is." Angel clarifies, "I just don't think that it's unusual given the circumstances."

Wes gives voice to what he suspects Angel isn't saying, "It's harder for Cordelia to understand that, I suspect."

Angel lets out a long breath, even though breathing is optional for him, "She expected different things from him. Things she's not getting."

Wes takes a moment to push Angel to acknowledge his own heartbreak in all this, "That can't be easy for her… or _you_."

"Doyle always had secrets, always had scars. Jumpiness aside, he seems like the same old Doyle." Angel asserts. "It's a lot easier for me."

"That's not what I meant." Wes says.

"I know what you meant." Angel replies. He pauses briefly before continuing. "He's my friend, Wes. And he died saving me. He's all that matters right now." He shrugs.

"As your friend, I should think he'd want to know what's happened in the past two years. He'd want to know where things stand." Wes reasons.

Angel takes that in, but doesn't verbally acknowledge the logic of Wes' argument. "Thank you. For everything." His words are sincere as he pats his friend on the shoulder.

"Don't mention it." A pang of guilt hits Wes at Angel's gratitude.

"You should really go home. Get some sleep. The prophecies will still be there tomorrow."

Wes nods solemnly as Angel disappears into the darkened lobby. He knows the prophecies will still be there tomorrow, but he really wishes they wouldn't be…


	8. Chapter 8: Broken Wing

***** CHAPTER 8 *****

Doyle takes a deep drag of his cigarette and lets it out, the smoke wafting up into the palm tree leaves overhead. It is late morning and all the other members of team-Angel are already inside doing whatever it is they do when they have no cases. Doyle had been able to slink by without notice, which had been a relief. He wasn't in the mood to fake it today. It took a lot of energy for him to be "on," and he had next to nothing at the moment. He was able to make it to the privacy of the courtyard, but he didn't feel like going any farther. Instead, he had found a shady corner, let his inner demon out and proceeded to fill his lungs with carcinogens. It was a lovely morning, really.

He should've known it wouldn't last.

He smells Cordelia's perfume the moment she exits the hotel's doors. She must have seen him come outside. Of course, she did. Unlike all the others, she actually spent most of her time looking for him. He morphs back to his human form before she spots him.

He doesn't move a muscle, but the smoke from his cigarette blows in her direction, which leads her directly to his private little corner. As she approaches, she does so slowly and cautiously, almost as if she's attempting to befriend a stray animal. She pauses several feet away and finally speaks, "Okay if I join you?"

He clears his throat. "I was just finishing up," he replies, taking a final drag from his cigarette and stubbing it out in the planter beside him. Instead of accepting his cue to leave, she sits on the edge of the stone bench across from him, careful to leave plenty of space between them. "Will you stay and join me, then?"

He squints at her, holding out his pack of cigarettes in her direction, "Ya smoke now?"

" _Ew_. You think I'd willingly invite the little demon we call _cancer_ to come take a stroll through my perfect lungs? No, thank you. And don't even get me started on the smell." She says dismissing the pack he had offered. "You should really quit." He can't exactly disagree. He'd quit years earlier, before he had ever met her. But, these days, he can't think of a reason not to take it up again. If anything, it helps keep people away. Despite his lack of dissent, he gives her a begrudging look. She, in turn, gives him a hopeful smile. "I just want some smoke-free air… and some conversation?"

"I suppose I can provide that last bit." He replies, returning her smile at a quarter of the wattage. While he isn't necessarily in the mood to chat, he also doesn't want to disappoint her. It's clear that she's been looking for a chance to be alone with him and now was as good a time as any. "Just do me a favor, darlin'. Don't have any of those visions of yours while we're sitting here, yeah?"

"From your lips to The Powers That Be's ears… assuming they have ears." She cocks her head to the side. "Do you think they have ears?"

"I know they have a sense of humor." He says dryly. He studies her for a moment as she pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear, her eyes solidly focused on her lap. "You can go ahead and ask me whatever's on your mind, Cordy. I'm not big on awkward silences and I know that's never really been your thing either."

She speaks without raising her eyes, "You resent me, don't you?" Her words hit him like a ton of bricks and when she raises her eyes, he feels even worse, "For bringing you back?"

He isn't sure what question he was expecting, but it certainly was not that, "Resent you? God, no. That's what you've been thinking?"

"You don't have to lie to spare my feelings, Doyle. I'm a big girl. I understand if you don't really want to be here. If you'd rather be back in paradise, or wherever you were before." She looks resigned to this being the case as she continues, "It was probably really selfish of me to assume you'd want to come back."

She's killing him right now. At another time, in another place, he would've grabbed her and hugged her and told her that everything would be alright. At this time and place, he can't even bring himself to reach out for her hand. But, he can at least distract her with humor. It's what he'd always done in the past, and it was his saving grace now. The way he could fool her and everyone else into thinking he was the same as he ever was. "Maybe I'm still gettin' used to the fact that you'd even want me back. Wasn't I always annoying you with my horrific fashion sense and lousy come-ons?"

This brings a genuine smile to her face, "Well… yes." She cocks her head at him and he can see the sincerity that comes with her next words, "But… you were also my best friend."

Doyle can't explain why those words mean more to him than anything else she's said since he's been back, but they do. "I was?" He asks. "What about Aura?"

Cordelia laughs out loud at that. "Aura?! Oh please, she used to call just to make sure I hadn't struck it big and forgot to tell her. She was better than Harmony, I guess." Cordelia shakes her head dismissively before turning her gaze back on him. "You were the only real friend I had back then. And I know I never said it, but thank you for being there for me when I needed you the most."

Their friendship had been valuable to her in a way Doyle had never realized. It had been valuable to him as well, but in an entirely different way. It makes him feel good to know his efforts to win her over had made an impact after all. Doyle can't help but admire her. Every inch of her. Oh yeah, there is a lot to admire, but he tries to keep it at eye level before he gets himself in trouble. "You've changed a lot from the girl I used to know. More than just the hair, yeah?"

"You don't know the half of it," she mumbles to herself. He watches as she twists a stray thread on her skirt thoughtfully before returning her gaze to him. "Your visions changed me. They made me see… _so much._ I witnessed all that pain and suffering, all those people in need… how could I see all that and not want to help stop it, right? _"_

"Puts things in perspective," he agrees. "You really meant what you said the other day? About them being a gift and all that?"

"I did." She replies. She thinks for a moment before turning curious eyes in his direction. "Did Angel tell you why my visions are painless now?"

Doyle sucks in a sharp breath. Angel had told him and it'd made him feel even worse. It took a special kind of person to overcome the burdens he'd saddled her with. Maybe he hadn't meant to pass his calling onto her, but he couldn't imagine anyone else doing half the job she had done. "He said they almost killed ya. That the Powers That Be had to intervene, to make right what I'd done wrong."

"So, he didn't he tell you how they made it right." Her face betrays nothing, but he can tell she's leading him toward another revelation.

"Well, the painless thing, obviously. But, he didn't get real specific about it, no." Doyle's positive he won't like what he's about to hear next, but dying to hear it all the same.

"They made me part-demon." Her words sound like a foreign language to him. Once his brain catches up with his ears, he finds himself studying her closer, searching for any subtle differences he had missed before. "You won't find any horns or a tail." She says wryly. "So far, the only indication that I'm more-than-human is the painless vision thing. And sometimes I float."

"You're a demon?" Doyle speaks the words aloud, but still doesn't believe them.

"Part-demon." She clarifies. " _'Pretty much my big secret.'_ All that time you wasted worrying that I'd reject you for being half-demon, and now look at me. I'm just like you. Completely by choice. The irony is killing you, right now, isn't it?"

He couldn't have said it better himself, "That about sums it up, yeah."

As they laugh together at the absurdity of their situation, a familiar chemistry percolates under the surface. He knows his poker face is slipping. She can probably see some of the feelings he's been trying to keep tucked away behind the mask. Lord knows, he can see hers, and it terrifies him. The Cordelia he knew before was always so guarded, always so closed off. Part of why he had liked her so much was that he could put it all out there and it'd bounce right off her. It was frustrating, but also safe. This new and improved Cordelia is much less afraid of wearing her heart on her sleeve and it is absolutely tearing him apart. Because he can't do the same. Not this time.

His face falls and hers falls with it, realizing that something has shifted. "You're not just like me. You're better than I ever was or could hope to be." He says. "Just look at all you've done for Angel."

"Doyle, that's not true." She insists, leaning forward to make her point. If she notices that he reflexively sits back, she doesn't say. "You gave your life to save him, not to mention a significant portion of the human population of this city. It doesn't get any more brave and selfless than that. That doesn't go away just because you're alive again."

"That's the best I've got, Cordy. One moment of atonement that's ancient history now." He retorts, trying to keep any hint of anger or bitterness out of his voice. That's not what he wants her to hear. "I have no money or property, or possessions of any kind, really."

"Doyle," she says half-amused, "You never had those things."

"Point taken." He says, thinking of every possible excuse he could throw into the pile—every excuse why she shouldn't bother looking at him the way she was currently looking at him. "But now I have no real purpose either. No mission. I lived like that once before, Princess. It's not a good look for me."

"Then join the mission!" She implores. "Helping the helpless is still a thing we do around here, y'know. And we can use another hero in the mix." She arches a brow at him tauntingly. "Or did you think you'd just live here rent-free forever? Brooding your second-life away…"

Doyle has to chuckle at her tenaciousness. "There's something that hasn't changed. You still give a helluva pep talk."

"And you're still too busy feeling sorry for yourself to grab what's right in front of you." She says boldly. Her subtext not lost on him, because it was basically just text.

He sighs, standing up and pacing a few feet away before turning back to face her, "Consider me a member of the team, yeah?"

A flicker of emotion on her face tells him that she was hoping he'd say something else, but she covers it up with a satisfied smile. She stands up to match his eye level. "I always have." She replies.

He moves to walk away, but then pauses. He turns back to face her, his eyes sparkling in the late-morning sun, "I don't resent you, darlin'. Not for one second. Thank you for caring enough to bring me back."

"You're welcome." Seeing the look on her face makes him glad he'd said those words. And it encourages him to turn the dial way up on that smile of hers, despite his reticence to give her false hope.

"And y'know, there's one other thing that hasn't changed." A grin slowly spreads across his lips and he gives her a wink, "You're still the most beautiful thing I can see."

* * *

Doyle knocks on the door, hoping that he's making the right call. He doesn't want to let anyone in on his little secret, but he owes it to himself, as well as Cordelia, to try and get some answers. This might be the only way to do so.

The door swings open to a pleasantly surprised Lorne, "Doyle! What brings you to my doorstep, little buddy? Let me guess, it's the promise of my world-famous Whiskey Sour."

"I'll take the whiskey. Hold the sour." He replies, crossing the threshold as Lorne opens the door wide in invitation. "And hold the 'little buddy' stuff or I'm liable to start callin' ya Skipper."

Doyle takes in Lorne's room, which doesn't look all that different from his own. That's what it's like to live in a hotel, he supposes, it's fairly swanky, but lacking in any sense of hominess or individuality. Lorne finishes pouring a drink for each of them and joins Doyle in the sitting area, passing him a glass. "I think you'll like this one. Aged 21 years. Just like a certain someone you're rather sweet on." Lorne gives him a knowing glance as he sips his own beverage.

"That wasn't very subtle." Doyle replies, eyebrows askew. "If you're fishing for gossip, you're gonna come up empty, mate."

"Maybe I should try different bait." He replies innocently. "Or maybe you should save us both the time and just start singing."

Doyle holds the glass Lorne handed to him to his lips without taking a sip, "Ah, right. You'll see all that anyway. No use in me trying to deny how I feel about Cordy."

"I can keep a secret, Doyle. Even one as not-at-all-a-secret as that." Lorne says reassuringly, taking a seat in one of the plush chairs nearby. "I mean, we all know how she got your visions. No secret there. And now, out of all the gifts the Powers That Be could have chosen to give her—they chose _you._ I don't think it takes psychic abilities to see that there's something between you two." He pauses to take a sip of his Sea Breeze. "Anyway, I do have psychic abilities and that girl's been humming up a storm lately. The only part that remains a mystery to me, is why you haven't done anything about it."

"I was a gift?" Doyle asks in confusion, unable to absorb much else out of Lorne's ramblings. That makes no sense whatsoever. "She said she brought me back…"

"And she did." Lorne confirms. "But who do you think gave her the ability to bring you back? Our Cordelia is many things, but a powerful witch is not one of them."

"People 'round here have a very funny concept of the word _gift_." Doyle shakes his head repeatedly in denial. Finally, he too sits in one of the chairs, the gears in his head turning. "I don't understand why the Powers That Be would do something like this?"

Lorne studies the half-demon before him. "I'm guessing that's why you came to see me, am I right? Because all is not sunshine and rainbows in the land of Doyle?"

"More like tornadoes and hurricanes." Doyle admits. "I thought it might be a side effect of a spell-gone-wrong. Something I could fix. But if what you're saying is true, then it means the Powers That Be made me this way."

Lorne sips his drink thoughtfully, "Well, my little Irish friend, there's only one way I'm going to be able to help you. Those pipes of yours all warmed up?"

Doyle clears his throat and takes a deep breath before launching into his go-to karaoke song of choice, " _I can't believe the news today. Oh, I can't close my eyes and make it go away._ _How long, how long must we sing this song…"_

"Stoooooop!" Lorne roars, letting his drink slip from his fingers. He falls forward from his chair and collapses to the ground. Doyle stares at the motionless body of the demon before him.

He just killed Lorne.

Doyle waits a beat, bracing himself for the worst. He slowly slides out of his own chair and kneels before Lorne's prone body, trying to remember if the Pylean's anatomy resembles that of a human's or not. He vaguely recalls Lorne once mentioning that his heart was in a rather unfortunate location…

A groan emanating from Lorne causes Doyle to breathe out in relief. "Oh thank God!"

Lorne continues to stir, but doesn't open his eyes. He mumbles into the carpet, "I'm not feeling that thankful at the moment."

Doyle hovers over him, but doesn't offer a hand of support. Instead, he sits back as Lorne slowly pulls himself to all fours and then plops back down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Doyle can see the tears streaming down his face as he turns his head slowly toward the cause of his trauma. "What… was… _that_?!"

Doyle swallows audibly, trying not to let the guilt overwhelm him. "A mistake."

"How are you walking around? How can you… do anything at all?" Lorne sputters.

Doyle leans back against the base of the armchair, sipping from the whiskey glass he still clutches in his hand, "You get used to it."

"I highly doubt that," Lorne says, finally pulling himself to a sitting position and wiping the tears from his cheeks. "That, my friend, is not something you can live with."

"Living might be a bit of an overstatement, yeah?" Doyle replies.

Lorne points to his spilled drink on the carpet. "You mind grabbing me a refill? I need as much sweet numbing goodness as I can get and it might be a few minutes before I regain the full use of my appendages."

Doyle retrieves the empty glass from the floor, stands up and crosses to Lorne's bar area. "I'm sorry for that." He finishes filling Lorne's glass and returns, handing it back down to him. "Did ya… see anything else? Aside from the painful part?" He asks expectantly.

Lorne drinks deeply from his glass before answering, "Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?" He quips, then turns to look up at Doyle hovering over him. "Buby, baby… I couldn't see what you had for breakfast with all that agony in the way."

Doyle's shoulders slump in defeat. He had thought in the very least Lorne could tell him what the cause of his distress is, if not the way to stop it. "I guess that's it then."

Lorne shakes his head as he takes another large gulp of alcohol, "No, that's not it. I couldn't see what's there, but I could sense that there _is_ something more to see. And I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say it's nothing good."

That was what Doyle had been expecting all along, and yet the confirmation still hits him like a bullet. Lorne pleads with him from his place on the ground, "Listen, Doyle, I know I swore psychic-to-singer confidentiality here, but you need to tell Angel and Cordelia what's going on. You need help."

Doyle places his now-empty glass on a small table beside one of Lorne's chairs. "Thanks, man. But, if it's all the same to you, I'll be helping myself for the time being."


	9. Chapter 9: Blood Through The Veins

***** CHAPTER 9 *****

Angel sits in the shadows of the Hyperion lobby watching his broken friend limp across the floor. He makes no move to reveal himself, instead allowing Doyle the illusion of privacy. He is trying to be patient; trying not to be an alarmist; trying to follow the advice he'd repeatedly given Cordelia. Doyle just needs time.

But, if he keeps this up, he won't have much time left.

Initially, Doyle had spent almost every night with Angel talking into the wee hours of the night, asking questions about everything that had changed since he'd been gone and everything that hadn't. While there were some things Angel didn't enjoy reflecting on, it felt good to have Doyle's viewpoint on things he'd missed. Doyle was surprisingly sympathetic toward the whole Darla saga and unsurprisingly unsympathetic when it came to Angel nearly turning his back on the greater good.

In any case, their nightly ritual had been interrupted when Doyle decided to create a new one for himself. One in which, he'd disappear for hours and return with visible bruises, not to mention the occasional open wound. Angel could smell his blood in the air at that very moment, confirming that Doyle's current limp is not merely a pulled muscle.

Angel had thought it was a good sign when Doyle insisted on helping with cases-a sign that he was ready to put his death behind him and move forward with his life. Unfortunately, now Angel has to wonder if he isn't joining missions for the same reason he is going out and getting beat up every night.

To fulfill his apparent death wish.

* * *

The next night Angel finds Doyle on the roof of the Hyperion, three sheets to the wind. He's relieved that Doyle had decided not to disappear this evening. Or, in the very least, disappear somewhere Angel could easily find him.

It had been a long day spent staking out a cyber-tree-demon, who fed off the life force of heroes. And Doyle had been right in the thick of it as the demon's main course, nearly getting himself killed in the process. Angel had saved the day, as he is wont to do, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Doyle didn't want to walk away from the fight.

Angel approaches silently, admiring the view of the surrounding cityscape. He'd never come up here by himself, but he should've known Doyle would gravitate there. It had been something they were accustomed to doing at their old office building. This rooftop was larger, and lit by a neon sign, that created an eerie blue-green glow.

He stands beside Doyle leaning his elbows against the wall that borders the rooftop. "It's nice up here." Doyle doesn't bother with a greeting. He merely pushes the bottle of whiskey he'd been drinking in Angel's direction.

"You almost died tonight." Angel says evenly, not accepting the bottle Doyle had offered. "Again."

"Yeah, and you saved the day. Again." Doyle replies, seeming not-at-all bothered by his close call.

"Do you wish I hadn't?" Angel asks, leaning on one arm so he could turn his body toward Doyle and observe the other man's body language.

"Ah, I'm not so proud that I can't let a real hero step in when needed." Doyle replies offhandedly, not comprehending the gravity of the question. "Just like old times, yeah?"

Angel has to hand it to Doyle. If he is lying, he's doing an impeccable job. "Old times didn't always work out that way."

"It was just that one time, Angel." Doyle shrugs. "Don't beat yourself up about it. I'm alive now, or haven't ya noticed? All's well that ends well."

"You want to tell me about the bruises?" Angel has a bit of déjà vu as he asks the question. It's all too familiar.

Doyle steps away from the wall, fumbling through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. "Cordy put you up to this, didn't she? I told her she worries too much." He finally finds the pack in his left breast pocket, shakes out a cigarette and struggles to light it against the breeze.

"This is coming from me." Angel replies, leaning back on his elbows so he's facing Doyle rather than the scenery in the opposite direction.

"Well, then you both worry too much." Doyle replies with the lit cigarette between his lips. "Can't a guy go out and have a good time without an inquisition?"

"The bruises don't look like a good time, Doyle. Neither does the pretty sizable gouge on your left leg, which smells a bit infected, by the way. You might wanna have that looked at. Next you're gonna tell me you walked into a doorknob."

"As it so happens, there are some rather ferocious doorknobs in these parts." Doyle quips.

"Do you owe those doorknobs money? Is that what this is about?" Angel asks folding his arms and trying to remind Doyle that he is a force to be reckoned with. "You know I can help you. I just need to know why you'd go looking for that kind of trouble again. You were free and clear. Everyone thought you were dead. Why rattle those cages?"

"I have my reasons." Doyle says, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. "Just give me time."

"That's not good enough, Doyle." Angel replies, losing his cool a bit. "It's hard enough for me to watch you self-destruct, do you have any idea what you're doing to Cordelia?"

Doyle drops his head in something resembling shame, "Don't bring her into this…"

"She's already in it." Angel steps closer to Doyle as he continues, "Every time you hurt yourself, you are hurting her. Do you get that?"

"That's the last thing I want." Doyle replies hoarsely, still keeping his head down.

Angel tries to read Doyle's expression, but it's hard to interpret. He takes it down a notch and tries a different tack. "She sent the Groosalugg away, y'know."

Doyle taps the ash from his burning cigarette. "I kinda figured as much." He shifts his weight uncomfortably, pointing to his chest. "You saying it was 'cause of me?"

"It wasn't for me." Angel says, trying to contain the slight bitterness that edged into his voice. Luckily, Doyle didn't catch it, nor did he understand that Angel wasn't being sarcastic.

"Well, I didn't ask her to do that." He argues. "That's not what I wanted."

"What do you want?" Angel asks. When Doyle doesn't respond, he continues in a calmer tone. "You're forgetting who you're talking to here. I know how you felt about her before you died. And in case it hadn't occurred to you, _she_ knows how you felt before you died."

"It had occurred to me, yeah." Doyle mutters.

Angel continues, ignoring Doyle's aside. "Back then, you would've sold your soul just to make her smile. Probably literally."

"Oh, I woulda sold it, but no one was willing to buy that old thing." Doyle jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm not saying you're obligated to still feel that way. Feelings change and you've been through a lot. But, she's someone who cares about you and I don't see how you could be indifferent to that. That's not who you were, Doyle. And, regardless of what you've been through, I don't think that's who you are now."

"I'm anything but indifferent." Doyle replies sincerely, taking a final drag from his cigarette and dropping it to the floor.

"Then stop trying to get yourself killed." Angel sighs in frustration. "For her sake. For your own sake. Hell, for my sake as well."

"Guess that's your way of saying you care, too?"

"You know that I do." Angel replies without hesitation. "So, keep that in mind when you're out doing whatever it is you've been doing." With that, Angel feels he's said his peace and turns to walk away, leaving Doyle with the best advice he has to give for now. He just has to hope he made a dent in that thick Irish skull.

"I'm not numb."

Doyle's voice causes Angel to stop in his tracks and turn back around. "What?"

Doyle runs his fingers through his hair causing it to stand up on end, "I'm not numb to the world, the way Buffy was." He swallows hard as he continues, noting Angel's patient silence. "More like I feel too much. Like the volume's been cranked way too high and now everything around me is amplified until it's nothing but pain. It never stops. And it takes pretty much all of my strength to act like it's not there, to pretend I'm just the same ol' fun-lovin' half-demon ya wanted to bring back here… because I didn't wantya to have to know how much this second-life sucks for me. I didn't want _her_ to have to know."

Angel is stunned, "How bad?"

"Bad enough that I've been spendin' some rather quality time to myself, bonding with my spikier half."

"The demon takes the pain away?"

"The demon thing helps take the edge off, but the pain never goes away. Not entirely."

"But, if it helps… why walk around like this at all?" Angel asks, a hint of distress evident in his tone.

"Like this?" Doyle asks, gesturing to himself. " _This_ is who I am, man. Maybe I'm a bit more comfortable with the demon than I used to be, but I'm still not looking to make it my public persona. Personally, I'd rather walk around with my skin on fire."

Angel closes his eyes, trying to imagine what life would be if everything was pain. It actually isn't that hard for him to imagine, considering the pain he'd lived with in the past. "That's why you won't let anyone touch you?"

Doyle grimaces at the thought, "You'd think with the whole walking-around-in-constant-agony-thing that touching wouldn't make much of a difference, but somehow it manages to be even more excruciating. It's like adding a lightning bolt to the mix."

"And yet, the fighting? The bruises?" Angel asks, horrified at the thought of what that must feel like.

"Ah… pure torture, but at least it's supposed to be, yeah?" Doyle reasons. "I mean, a quick punch is bound to hurt like hell, but it isn't nearly as bad as a friend tryin' to give ya a friendly pat, or God forbid, a hug. Only trouble is I tend to pass out from the pain every now and then, which puts me at a bit of a disadvantage."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think I had to at first. I thought it was a temporary side-effect of the resurrection spell."

"It could still be temporary. You haven't been back for that long." Angel suggests hopefully. "Maybe you need more time to heal."

"Except, it wasn't a resurrection spell that brought be back, yeah? It was the Powers That Be." Doyle says with finality.

"That doesn't mean this is permanent."

Doyle looks unconvinced. "You know the other reason I didn't tell ya? Because of that, right there. That look in your eyes that says you're gonna make it all better. What if it doesn't get any better than this, man? What if the Powers That Be don't think I was done atoning, so they sent me back with an even bigger burden to bear? 'Sure, you get a second chance, bud, just don't think about enjoying it.' Seems overly cruel, if you ask me- dangling the one thing I wanted most of all right in front of me, and not letting me get close enough to grab it."

"If that were the case, why bring you back at all? The Powers That Be don't work that way, Doyle. The visions served a cosmic purpose, this doesn't."

"Unless we can't see the purpose from where we're sitting." Doyle replies, folding his arms over his body.

Angel is starting to understand the bigger picture. "Does this mean…" He clears his throat uncomfortably. "The thing you want most of all… Cordelia?"

Doyle nods regretfully. "You know how I felt about her before, man. And just look at her now- she's an amazing woman. I could live a thousand lifetimes and never get lucky enough to have someone like her notice someone like me. O'course, I want to be with her. I'm not _that_ big a fool." He gives a little shrug, still keeping his arms folded. "But I think you understand why I'm not looking to get intimately reacquainted at the moment. Don't think she'd find it such a turn on if I'm screaming bloody murder whenever she tries to so much as hold my hand. Not to mention how guilty she'd probably feel if she knew what bringing me back would feel like on my end."

"Maybe Lorne…"

"My singing knocked him out cold." Doyle interjects. "I mean, my aura, not my singing. Did he ever tell ya I do a killer Bono?"

"We'll find a way to fix this." Angel says with determination.

"See, there ya go. Wanting to fix what may not be considered broken by the people upstairs." Doyle points to one of the visible bruises on his neck. "At least, now you know the reason for these. Yeah, I've stirred up some trouble with old acquaintances, but if it helps me find a cure, then it's worth it."

"Well, in that case, let's stir up some trouble together." Angel replies motioning to the city before them. "You know how persuasive I can be."

Doyle steps forward, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Gettin' me outta trouble, just like old times." Licking his lips anxiously, he gives Angel a pleading look. "Promise me you won't tell Cordy. If she finds out what her 'gift' has been doing to me, it'll hurt her worse than just thinking I'm on a heaven withdrawal and all that."

Doyle has a point. As much as Angel hates the thought of keeping something like this from Cordelia, he hopes it will only be a temporary deceit. "Let's get you cured so there won't be anything to tell her."

"Great, what d'ya say we hit up this sweet little dive bar I know on the way across town? Just to keep with the good old days theme, yeah?"


	10. Chapter 10: Mend

***** CHAPTER 10 *****

Doyle blinks his eyelids open, eyes darting around the unfamiliar room... which actually does have a vaguely familiar look to it. He takes a brief assessment of his body and determines that it is intact, although currently occupying a bed that is not his own. Did he die again? Has he been brought back again? He sits up a bit and feels an extra ache in his head with a bump to go along with it. That gives him a pretty good idea what happened. In fact, he can now recall fighting a group of unidentified demons with the team, chasing after an escapee, only to find himself cornered when the demon turned on him. After that there was a _very_ unfortunate encounter with a brick wall.

He pulls himself to the side of the bed, taking in the room in broader detail. Even before he sees the photos on her dresser, he knows exactly where he is.

He's in Cordelia's apartment.

In her bedroom. In her bed, to be exact.

 _What an unfortunate way to end up here,_ he thinks to himself.

He stands up and is pleasantly surprised to find that he can do so without falling over. He makes his way over to the mirror on her wall to take in his bedraggled appearance, noting that he is wearing a plain grey undershirt without the button-down that went over it. The bump on his head is actually a pretty gnarly gash, which is now matted with dried blood. There is a steri-strip keeping the skin pushed together, probably placed there by the lady of the house. There'd definitely be an ugly scar, but it'd thankfully be hidden within his dark hair. No other injuries are evident, but considering how he feels on a regular basis, there could easily be something he is missing.

As he stumbles out of the bedroom, things begin to look a whole lot more familiar. This is, indeed, the same apartment he'd helped her find years ago. Minus that one pesky wall she'd hated so much. He hears water running in the kitchen and decides that's as good a direction as any. Sure enough, he finds her leaning over the sink, scrubbing blood out of a garment that looks suspiciously like his missing shirt. He would've been surprised to see her trying to salvage any article of clothing belonging to him, but the shirt in question was, perhaps, one of his nicer ones—a pale blue short sleeve with dark blue patterns etched throughout. Back in the day, she'd never insulted his blue shirts as much as she insulted all the others.

He leans in the doorframe, crossing his arms and admiring the view for a moment. Cordelia being domestic, it is a sexy thing to behold. He even likes the way her short locks are tied up in a messy ponytail with stray pieces falling everywhere. And how she scrubs so hard that little bubbles float up from the sink.

He'd have to remember to throttle Angel for letting him end up in this predicament. No way is he getting out of this without being struck by lightning, in the figurative sense.

He clears his throat, making his presence known. She looks over her shoulder at him with an expression that doesn't read as enthusiasm. She goes back to her task, scrubbing vigorously for another moment before finally tossing the scrub brush into the sink with an air of frustration. She shuts the water and turns to face him. "You're awake." She says, again without much enthusiasm. "Any brain damage? That wasn't there prior to tonight?"

Doyle squints in confusion, "I'm not sensing much in the way of sympathy here, darlin'."

She picks up an icepack from the counter and hurls it at him. Hard. "That sympathetic enough for you?!"

He catches the icepack clumsily, caught off guard by her hostile demeanor. "What was that for?! What'd I do to make ya so…" He looks her up and down and grimaces for lack of a proper descriptive word. "Aside from having my skull nearly cracked open?"

She puts her hands on her hips, eyes flashing with anger, "That's exactly the problem, Doyle. You ran off _by yourself_ and we found you unconscious and bleeding in an alleyway." She steps a little closer to him, causing him to reflexively step back, except he has nowhere to go—his back is literally against the wall.

"Someone had to chase the thing." He says weakly. "Angel was otherwise occupied and…"

"Don't even get me started on Angel!" Cordelia cries, throwing her hands in the air and pacing right past him into the dining area. She appears to be talking to herself more than to him at this point. "I told him this would happen. I made him promise not to let you out of his sight. In fact, I wanted him to bench you. Did he listen?"

"Bench me?" Doyle parrots back at her twisting his body to follow her movements. "You're the one who wanted me back on the team in the first place. I thought ya'd be happy."

"Happy?!" Her voice is shrill with a mixture of disbelief and anger as she turns back to him looking anything _but_. "I wanted you to help us, Doyle, not throw yourself in the line of fire every chance you get! You're not Superman! You're not even the boy wonder."

"I think you're mixin' your comic books there, love." He mutters under his breath. She doesn't bother acknowledging his lame attempt at diffusing her anger.

"I don't know how you think watching you play reckless-moron-with-nothing-to-lose would make me happy?! Really _not_! I didn't bring you back from the dead so you could kill yourself all over again! So I think you're done fighting the good fight until you get your head on straight… which, _by the way_ , it wasn't on straight when we found you. Did I mention that?!"

Doyle can't answer. He opens his mouth to try, but she verbally plows right through him. "You are so lucky you instinctively turned all demony when you hit your head, because, that thing you were chasing decided to stick around and finish the job. It snapped your neck!"

"Oh." Doyle rubs his neck in response, for once, thankful for his half-Brachen DNA.

Cordelia huffs toward the other side of the dining table and when she whirls back to face him he can see a sheen of tears in her eyes. That takes him aback. "You looked dead." She chokes out, officially breaking his heart. "I didn't know you could do that… I thought you were.. _._ "

Doyle's still standing frozen in place with his mouth open, looking every bit the dolt he feels. "I'm … sorry, Cordy."

"Don't 'sorry Cordy' me." She is still visibly angry, but she is losing some of her steam. She blinks rapidly, wiping at the corner of her eye. "In case you're wondering, Angel killed the demon. It didn't get away. I guess that was partially thanks to you and your stupidity."

"That's… good." Doyle says cautiously.

"And, obviously, I'm glad you're not dead." She says, regaining control of herself and taking a deep breath.

"Seems you wanted to finish the job yourself, yeah?" Doyle replies, his lips hinting at a smirk.

"Don't tempt me, buster." She says, folding her arms over her chest. She glares at him for another moment before softening slightly, but only slightly. "How's your head?"

"Hard as it ever was." He replies.

"Go lie down on the couch. Put the ice on it to keep the swelling down." She moves back into the kitchen to finish cleaning his shirt. He heads for the living room; figuring the least he can do is obey her orders.

The room is dim, which enhances the view of the L.A. cityscape beyond the picture window. The sky is dark and starless, but the lights twinkling on the buildings make up for it. As he settles into the couch cushions, he feels the pillows behind him shift around, helping him settle into a more comfortable position. He's reminded that there's another occupant of the apartment, "Phantom Dennis? How ya been?" In response, Dennis removes the icepack from Doyle's hand and holds it over the lump on his head. "Yeah, I've been better." Doyle replies settling into the pillows and letting the friendly ghost take care of the icepack.

After a few more minutes of scrubbing, Cordelia reemerges from the kitchen and stands in the entryway to the living room taking in the scene before her. She is visibly calmer than before, possibly having worked out all her aggression with the scrub brush. Doyle has no doubt that the bloodstain, as well as a good portion of the poly-cotton blend, is gone.

She crosses the dim room to take a seat on the far end of the couch. Leaving plenty of room between them, she pulls her legs up under her chin, and sits facing him with a contemplative look on her face.

"The view's nice." Doyle says, pointing out the picture window to the downtown L.A. skyline in the distance. "I don't think I've ever been here after dark."

"You were once." She replies. "Remember Thanksgiving?"

"Ah…I remember." He replies with a chuckle.

How could he forget? Angel had taken off to Sunnydale for three days to save Buffy and left them both behind. He hadn't expected much to come of Thanksgiving day itself; he would've preferred to keep the office open and spend more time with Cordelia. As luck would have it, she had called him frantically on Thanksgiving morning, begging him to come help her. He had no idea what he was walking into. As it turned out, he was walking into a disaster of epic proportions... a kitchen full of inedible Thanksgiving specialties. He thought it was pretty cute that she had tried to cook it all herself, even if not much of it was salvageable. She had been fairly shocked that Doyle knew a thing or two about cooking, but not even Julia Childs could've saved that mess. Thankfully for her, he'd been the only guest at the dinner table and he wasn't likely to complain—that almost made it feel like a date, even though it wasn't really a date. Luckily, he'd been able to convince her to sideline the salmonella-inducing turkey in favor of some takeout from their favorite Thai place. They'd then sat together on her couch eating takeout and watching Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving Special. Overall, it was a pretty terrific day as far as he was concerned.

"We brought you here because it was closer than the hotel." Cordelia pulls him out of his reverie, answering a question he'd never asked aloud. "You were bleeding a lot from that head wound. As far as I was concerned it was either take you to the hospital or bring you here... and the hospital wasn't really an option."

"They probably wouldn't have known where to stick the IV, what with all the spikes." Doyle agrees.

"Angel didn't want to leave, but I told him I'd revoke his invitation if he didn't." She says, giving Doyle a look that says she meant it.

"Don't be so hard on him. This wasn't his fault."

"You two will defend each other to the bitter end." She says, arching a quizzical brow at him. "I can't compete with the epic bromance. Guess I should step aside."

That gives Doyle a good laugh. "Ah, darlin', you have a few things he doesn't have, and I daresay it gives you quite the competitive edge."

She rolls her eyes at him, but can't fight the smile that spreads across her face.

Phantom Dennis lifts the ice pack away from Doyle's head and it hovers there for a moment. He turns to look at the invisible space behind him. "Thanks, Dennis, man. That's good for now."

The icepack goes flying away toward the kitchen. "He likes you." Cordelia notes.

"Well, I'm glad someone's fallen for my Irish charms." Doyle replies, eyes twinkling with humor.

Cordelia gestures toward a bowl sitting in the center of the coffee table, currently filled with bandages and other medical paraphernalia. "Will you let me change your bandage?"

She's watching for his reaction and he supposes he gives her exactly what she had expected. Excuses. "Y'know, it's feelin' better. I think I should leave it like this for a while."

"Sure." She rests her chin on her knees silently observing him. "One benefit to you being knocked unconscious? I could actually touch you without objection."

"Ya had your way with me, then? While I was knocked out cold?" He jokes because he can't let this become a serious conversation, but he can see her current train of thought won't be so easily derailed.

"Will you tell me why?" She asks.

"I've never really been a touchy-feely sorta guy." Doyle fibs, sitting up a little straighter and trying to come up with an excuse that doesn't sound as completely lame as that one.

"Well, that's just not true." She replies with a hint of exasperation. "Fine. If you won't be honest with me, can I be honest with you without you running for my front door?"

Uh oh.

"O' course." He says aloud, while internally screaming.

"There's one thing I've wanted since you came back, that I still haven't gotten yet."

Doyle swallows nervously, not entirely sure what she's about to ask for but already knowing it'll be next to impossible to deny her. "Yeah, what's that?"

"I want you to wrap your arms around me, Doyle." She says matter-of-factly. The city lights from the window illuminate her face, making her look ethereally beautiful. "I want you to hold me and... promise me you won't leave me again?"

He's a goner if ever there was one.

"Assuming that's true, of course." She clarifies.

He takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he is about to do. He can do it. He has the strength to give her what she wants, without letting her know how much it hurts him. He only hopes he won't pass out in the process. And if he does pass out, he can just blame the probable concussion.

He looks over, meeting her expectant gaze, and reaches out his right arm in invitation. "C'mere, love."

"You sure?" She asks, eyes filling with relief and excitement.

He nods her over, wordlessly insisting that she accept his offer. She only hesitates for a second before climbing toward him and wrapping her arms gratefully around his body. He, in turn, wraps his arms around her, hoping he can make the moment live up to her expectations. She must feel how tense every muscle in his body is… at first. Then, he slowly relaxes beneath her, pulling her closer and tighter against him. Relief floods through every inch of his body as he whispers into her hair. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Doyle can hardly believe what he's feeling. He had been so used to living with pain, it is nothing short of euphoric to have it suddenly recede. To simply feel _normal_ again is like heaven on earth. And the fact that Cordelia is crushed against his body only makes the moment that much more sublime.

He lets himself fully relax, breathing easily. Enjoying the feel of her, and the peace she has managed to bring him. He hears her breathing slow down and become more rhythmic, indicating that she has probably fallen asleep. He leans down to kiss the top of her head, whispering to the sleeping beauty in his arms, "Thank you, Princess."

He closes his eyes and soon falls into a deep sleep, with his Princess wrapped tightly in his arms.


	11. Chapter 11: Like a Moth

**A/N - Just a little warning that the chapter after this one won't go up until later next week, because I'll be away for a few days. But never fear, I'm leaving you in a pretty good place with this chapter. No cliffhangers or anything. ;)**

 **The chapter after this one is the halfway point, so things will start to pick up a lot more from there. Thanks for reading, everyone!**

* * *

 ***** CHAPTER 11 *****

Doyle awakens with a jolt, not immediately aware of what had caused him to be yanked from his slumber. He looks over at the other end of the couch where a sleepy eyed Cordelia is smiling at him. "Good morning."

It was the pain that woke him, of course—all of it had rushed back as soon as she let go. He reaches over to grab her leg and exhales as the relief floods back into his body. If he'd had any lingering doubt as to the cause of his painless night, it was certainly gone now.

She is still smiling at him, although now looking slightly curious. He returns the smile, widening it to the point where his dimple shows. "'Mornin', beautiful."

"How's your head?" She asks, almost shyly. Brushing a stray hair out of her eyes.

"Better than ever." He answers honestly.

She rakes her eyes over him, noting the placement of his hand on her thigh. Returning her gaze to his eye level she replies questioningly, "You do seem… surprisingly chipper."

"I haven't slept that well since I was dead." He says plainly.

She wrinkles her brow, rubbing her shoulder. "Really? Because I have an awful neck cramp from this couch."

That makes him chuckle. "The couch really isn't as comfortable as it looks." He lifts his hand from her leg to her shoulder, massaging gently. "Why don't you let me work this knot out for ya. Least I can do for keeping you from more luxurious sleeping accommodations."

She twists around giving him full access to her back and shoulders. As he massages her tight muscles, he enjoys the feel of her smooth skin and the long, nape of her neck. And, of course, as long as he touches her, he is blissfully pain free. It's a win/win for both of them, as far as he's concerned.

"That feels so good." She groans. He can feel her muscles soften as he works on the tight spots. "If I knew you were this good of a masseuse I would have brought you back from the dead ages ago."

He laughs at that, kneading her flesh with his thumbs. "It feels good to be in this apartment."

"Oh yeah?" She asks, sounding pleased by that statement.

"Yeah. Feels good to be somewhere familiar." He explains. "Don't get me wrong, the hotel is great and all, but it just adds to the sense that I don't quite belong anymore."

She turns back around, forcing him to halt the massage. He lets his hand fall back against her leg, but tries to keep it more subtle this time. "Doyle, you _do_ belong. You belong as much as anyone else belongs there."

"And no one there's done anything to make me feel otherwise. I just meant, I have memories of this apartment. It makes me feel real. Like I'm… " He shrugs, not knowing how else to describe the feeling. "Home."

A smile spreads across her face and reaches full wattage in no time, "You are home."

"I get that now." He replies, giving her a warm smile.

She rests her hand over his as she leans closer, eyes filled with sincerity, "When you're out there fighting the good fight, don't ever forget how much we need you, okay? You're not expendable to us. Angel needs you. And I need you."

He stares into those soulful eyes of hers, not at all sure how he managed to keep his distance the last few weeks, "I need you, too, Cordy. More than I realized." He reaches out and strokes her cheek and the expression on her face changes. They both feel it. The electricity…

The phone rings.

Cordelia blinks as she comes back to earth and gets up to answer the phone. Doyle accepts the flood of pain back into his body, deciding it's not nearly as bad now that he can get some escape from it.

"Hello?" Cordelia says into the receiver. "No, we just slept late, that's all. I didn't set the alarm." She turns back toward Doyle and mouths. "It's Angel."

"Yeah, he's fine. Better than ever, actually." She gives Doyle a knowing smile as she gives Angel the status update. She listens for another moment. "Listen, we'll be there in a little while and you can see for yourself how great he's doing." Again she stops to listen and finally says, "Okay. See you soon."

She hangs up the receiver and shakes her head. "He worries too much."

* * *

As Angel descends the staircase into the Hyperion lobby, he sees that Cordelia and Doyle have finally rolled in. They are both leaning against the front counter with their backs turned to him, talking to Fred and Gunn who hover on the opposite side. Angel's eyes immediately land on the most unusual aspect of the scene before him-Doyle's hand resting casually on the small of Cordelia's back.

Angel stops walking for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around what that can possibly mean. The obvious answer is that Doyle has been cured. The less obvious answer is how. And the least obvious answer of all is what this means for Doyle's relationship with Cordelia. Although, Angel has a pretty good guess as to that last one, based on what he can see right in front of him.

He forces himself to complete his descent down the stairs and directs himself toward the coffee maker, first and foremost. As he casually pours himself a cup, he greets the new arrivals with a silent nod, so as not to interrupt the flow of their currently-in-progress conversation.

"But what about the flexibility?" Fred is asking. "I'd think the super-bendable thing alone would be worth it. No more breaking bones; you just pop them right back in to place and move along to the next fight."

"It's what Gumby would do." Cordelia adds with a smirk.

"Gumby?!" Doyle groans. "Is that a joke about my demon complexion? 'Cause that's not really helping your case, love. And, for the record, it's not my bones that are bendable, just my joints."

"Green is a lovely color." Fred insists. "Look how beautifully Lorne pulls it off!"

Angel turns toward the four of them, raising an eyebrow at Doyle.

Doyle, while looking slightly amused, also looks rather flummoxed, "Angel, man, perfect timing. Would you come to my defense here?"

"Depends what I'm defending." Angel replies, leaning back against the wall and sipping from his coffee mug.

Gunn gives Angel a sideways glance, "I think you're barking up the wrong tree, Doyle. No way would Angel ever withhold his vamp face in a fight... not unless he was feeling sensitive about it." Gunn snickers at his own joke while Angel rolls his eyes, silently cursing Doyle for bringing up old embarrassments.

"The ladies are trying to convince me that I should be using my demon side during fights." Doyle explains. "And I've been trying to tell 'em that it's just not the way I like to do things."

"You are barking up the wrong tree." Angel replies evenly.

"Toldja." Gunn says.

"Well, at least you understand me, man." Doyle says giving a thankful nod in Gunn's direction.

"I do." Gunn agrees. "I mean, sure, you could probably kick a lot more demon ass if you were stronger, faster and bendier—"

"Don't forget that leaping thing he can do." Cordelia interjects. "Like a big, spikey cat."

Doyle gives her pained expression, not loving the cat comparison. He turns back to Gunn. "You were sayin?"

"It's your call to make." Gunn finishes his thought. "They're your superpowers to use or not use. But... I can't argue that the spikes would come in handy in certain situations."

"And rather unfortunate in other ones, wouldn't ya say, darlin?" Doyle jests, causing raucous laughter from Gunn and a swat on the arm from Cordelia. Fred merely blushes.

As he watches Cordelia and Doyle grin at each other, he feels like he's been transported back in time. He could be back in the original Angel Investigations office watching them bicker and flirt shamelessly. For the first time since Doyle's been back, things seem to have fallen into their right place... and yet, it's also bittersweet, under the circumstances. And, Angel being who he is, can't ignore the dancing pink elephant in the room. He needs to know the _how_ of it all.

"Um... Doyle?" Angel interrupts, already feeling bad about breaking up the party. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Doyle's eyes say no, but he responds in kind, "Yeah, o'course."

Angel motions toward the opposite end of the lobby, moving away from the others. He catches Doyle's subtle grimace as he steps away from Cordelia, which makes him wonder if Doyle's as cured as he appears. He also notices Cordelia's longing glance as Doyle moves away from her. As if he didn't already feel bad for interrupting, these two have to make it seem like he's physically tearing them apart.

Once he and Doyle are out of earshot, Angel gives Doyle a questioning look, "It, um… looks like you found a cure for your problem."

A wide grin breaks out across Doyle's face, "You noticed that, yeah?"

"Hard not to." Angel replies, revealing very little about his inner monologue.

"Y'know I was ready to give ya an earful about leavin' me at her place last night, but really I should be thanking ya." Doyle continues, still with the big, stupid grin. "It's Cordelia. Touching her is my cure."

Angel definitely does not like the sound of this, even if it wasn't for that nagging little jealous voice in the back of his mind. He has a lot of questions, and yet doesn't really want to know the answers to any of them. Doyle continues without noticing Angel's reservations, "It's not a permanent cure. Basically only works when I'm actually touching her. But, at least it's something, yeah?"

"It's something." Angel agrees.

"There's finally some hope, man. More than that, I mean, it's not like I needed an excuse to wanna touch Cordy." Doyle points out, throwing an admiring glance in her direction. "Since last night, I've been walkin' on air..."

Angel waves his hand to stop Doyle from continuing, "I don't need to hear the details, thanks." He sips from the coffee mug he still holds and averts his eyes to the ceiling.

"No, it's not like that. Not yet, anyway." Doyle insists. "I'm a gentleman. And I haven't even asked her on a proper date yet."

Angel wishes he didn't feel relieved by that confession. "I'm glad you're feeling better, but—"

Doyle cuts him off, "I know what you're gonna say, and don't worry. I still plan on finding a more permanent solution. I know I can't spend the rest of my life glued to her side… much as I don't mind the sounda that."

Angel sighs. That's all fine and good, but isn't his main concern at the moment. "Don't you think it's strange? That Cordelia would be your cure?"

Doyle nods in agreement, "I thought about that. But it makes perfect sense."

"It does?" Angel asks skeptically.

"The Powers That Be sent me to her as a gift, yeah? Maybe they decided to throw in a little fail-safe while they were at it. Make sure the gift wouldn't stray too far from the receiver of said gift. As if that woulda been a problem." Doyle shrugs. "They've always had a flair for the dramatic."

Angel furrows his brow. Doyle's theory sounds far-fetched, but there could be something to it. "So… you think the Powers That Be pimped you out to Cordelia?"

Doyle retracts, "Geez, when you say it like _that_ it sounds dirty _._ "

"I don't know, Doyle." Angel says, sneaking his own glance in Cordelia's direction. "This whole thing doesn't feel right to me."

Doyle sighs heavily, kicking at an invisible spot on the floor, "Yeah, well, nothing's felt right to me since I've been back. Nothing except her."

Angel instantly regrets bringing Doyle down. While he has every intention of researching the issue further, he wants his friends to be happy and it's clear they'll both be happy with the current turn of events.

"Just… let me know if anything changes. And in the meantime… you have to tell Cordelia. Now that it involves her directly, it can't be our little secret anymore." Angel insists.

Doyle considers that for a moment, giving Angel a conflicted look, "You're right, man. No more secrets." He grins at Angel thankfully and heads off to rejoin the others.

Angel watches as Doyle slides back over to Cordelia, slinging his arm around her shoulders. She leans into him without hesitation, as if she'd been waiting for his return.

And she had been. She was waiting for him all along.

* * *

Cordelia exits to the front courtyard of the Hyperion, casting a glance behind her at the man who had been attached to her side all day long. Even now, he holds her hand tightly as they wander into the moonlight. All she had wanted since he returned was for him to be close to her, and she had finally gotten her wish, albeit not exactly the way she had intended.

Naturally, she'd been devastated to learn of all his pain and suffering since he'd been back, and she was none too pleased that both he and Angel had kept this information from her. But, she quickly got over the minor betrayal and focused on the important part—he had never wanted to keep his distance from her. More so, she realized that he had opened his arms to her the previous night, expecting to be in extraordinary pain. He had done it to comfort her, with no regard for his own well-being. Substance—he still had it in spades.

Now he can't bear to let go of her. And she isn't complaining one bit.

Doyle pulls her toward him and embraces her, placing a soft kiss on her cheek, "Thank you for a wonderful day, Princess. I couldn't have gotten through it without ya."

She smiles up at him, "I'm glad you didn't have to." She shuffles her foot. "It doesn't have to end. I mean, I can stay…"

"Not until I've taken you out." He replies stubbornly. "Which I hope to do soon. Tomorrow night?"

"It's a date." She says beaming.

She watches something pass over his features, something he wants to say, but holds back. She squeezes the hand that she's still holding, "Think it, say it, remember?"

"You're gettin' confused." Doyle chuckles. "That's your way. Not mine."

"My way's the right way." She says, sticking her tongue out at him teasingly.

His eyes reflect the moonlight, like two green stars, "I was just gonna say…" He pauses and she can see so much in his eyes that the words almost seem unnecessary. It makes her stomach flip over as she waits to hear him put a voice to those emotions. "Being close to you has made me happy to be alive. Happier than I was the first time around." He affectionately pinches her chin. "Just thought you should know. G'night, love."

He starts to walk away, but she doesn't let go of his hand, instead yanking him back toward her with enough force to surprise him.

"Doyle… Do you really think you can say something like that and then walk away from me?" She steps into his personal space so that their bodies are almost flush against each other and she has to tilt her head up slightly to meet his eyes. She's actually kind of glad that he isn't that much taller than her, because his lips hover only a few inches away from hers. She barely has to stand on her tiptoes, and they're perfectly in reach.

"I didn't wanna be presumptuous." He mumbles, looking almost as innocent as he sounds… if not for the mischievous glint in his eye that tells her otherwise.

In response, she slides her hands around his neck so that they land in the soft hair at the base of his head. Her lips are slightly parted as she closes the small distance between them, kissing him softly on the mouth. She holds there and waits for him to kiss her back, which he does almost instantly. Softly, at first, matching her initial approach. And then building from there. They breathe each other in, enjoying the feel of each other's lips and tongues. Their kiss is like a dance and they are in a perfect rhythm.

He breaks the kiss first, and must see the desire clouding her eyes. She isn't letting go just yet. She wants more. The pressure of her hand on the back of his head keeps him within inches of her waiting lips.

"From now on, Doyle, be presumptuous. Be very, _very_ presumptuous." She says breathlessly as she pulls his mouth back down to meet hers in another intoxicating kiss.

* * *

From an upstairs window, Angel sees his friends connecting. Finally.

He sighs. He is happy for them, of course, but their happiness only serves to highlight what he can never have. He can never have a moment of true happiness with the woman he loves. But at least she can have one with the man _she_ loves. He leaves them to their private moment, searching for the one other person who can make him feel complete.

"Hey, Connor. How you doing, buddy…?"


	12. Chapter 12: To The Flame

**A/N - I've rewritten this chapter more times than I can count, so in order to stop myself from rewriting it, yet again, I'm hitting the launch button. This is the middle of the story, so only 12 more chapters to go. (Okay, 13 chapters, actually). Hope you'll stick with me. :)**

* * *

 ***** CHAPTER 12 *****

Cordelia and Doyle walk hand-in-hand up the path to Cordelia's front door. She is decked out in a sexy, little black dress that would've made most men stop dead in their tracks. It wouldn't have been an understatement to say that when Doyle had first seen it, his eyes had come as close to leaving their sockets as half-humanly possible. Mission accomplished. For his part, Doyle too is looking rather eye-catching in a well-tailored black suit and pale-green shirt that is a perfect match for his eyes. Cordelia had been immediately impressed when he came to pick her up earlier that evening. She'd only seen him dressed up once before—at Richard Straley's bachelor party—and that ill-fitting suit had left a little something to be desired. This time, she had to admit, he looked incredible. If he had always dressed like this, she probably would've been smitten with him from the get-go. The word _dreamy_ came to mind.

She could tell right away that he'd worked hard to impress her, even though it was completely unnecessary for him to do so. They had been through enough drama not to bother with formalities, but he was adamant about taking her out on a proper date. Even if she wasn't already completely head-over-heels for the man, she would have been thoroughly impressed with his appearance, and his careful choice of restaurant- heavy on ambiance and light on pretension. It was a hidden gem tucked away in Silverlake, easy to miss if you didn't know it was there. He told her it was the place he'd always imagined taking her, should he ever work up the courage to ask her out. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find it was still there after all this time. And it was perfect- dark and candlelit, with simple, delicious food options that didn't take a foreign language degree to order or cost a small fortune. They'd sat close, in their cozy little booth, constantly in contact. Yes, it was a necessity for him to touch her to be able to truly enjoy the evening, but she couldn't deny that the feeling of his warm skin against hers also added to her own enjoyment.

Now, as any gentleman would do, he is walking her to her front door. And as any lady, who is dying to rip that sexy suit right off him, she would politely invite him inside.

As they arrive at the front door, she turns around to face him, "Thank you for a perfect evening." She says, tilting her head down so she can gaze up at him through her thick lashes. She flashes the thousand-watt smile that she knows has always been his weakness.

"I'm glad you didn't hold it against me for dying the last time I asked ya out." He jokes.

"You mean, dying _before_ you even had a chance to ask me out." She corrects, stepping closer to him and smoothing down his collar. "But, it's okay. This was worth the wait."

As they stand close, gazing at one another, she feels the now all-too-familiar crackle of electricity passing between them.

It had always been there, right from the start. She refused to accept it for the longest time, convincing herself that it meant nothing. And yet, in all her memories of Doyle from before, she could hardly remember an instance where it wasn't there screaming at her to wake up and take a chance. She could recall the first time she'd felt it, during an accidental brush of his arm against hers in the office. It had been fairly easy to dismiss at that point—so what if her skin tingled in the wake of his touch, so what if it was accompanied by an unwelcome winged creature taking residence in her stomach. It was like the cheese in the center of a mousetrap. Enticing, but dangerous and sure to leave a mark. Or worse. She wasn't looking to get stuck in that trap. Not after what she'd been through with Xander. There were far more important things to look for aside from sparks—like a nice stock portfolio, for instance.

And then he had to go ahead and save her life. After that, it was pretty much impossible to return to her previous levels of comfortable denial. It wasn't just chemistry anymore, it was chemistry plus substance plus feelings of both the platonic and non-platonic variety… and as much as the thought of something _real_ absolutely terrified her, she also wanted it. She wanted the whole package, as badly dressed as it was.

So, despite her protests, she really hadn't minded when Angel had taken a trip to Sunnydale, leaving she and Doyle alone for days. Those days mostly involved the two of them avoiding the office by taking long lunches and even longer coffee breaks. However, when a minor walk-in case presented itself, they were forced to deal with it themselves. It involved an overnight stakeout, which really only meant they spent four hours sitting in her car in the dark, bickering about god-knows-what. They'd both gone a little stir-crazy and had gotten out of the car, which was exactly when the object of their stakeout finally showed himself. In order to seem inconspicuous, she had yanked Doyle close to her, as she leaned against the side of the car. He instinctively had understood what she was doing, leaning into her, with a hand placed against the roof of her car. The sudden close proximity and the sparks that had ignited as a result had taken them both by surprise. And as she'd looked up into his eyes and saw that he was inching ever-so-much-closer, she was certain he was going to kiss her. Most surprisingly of all, she'd been disappointed when he hadn't done so. Instead, he'd pointed out that the guy they were following was getting away and had rushed to jump in the driver's seat.

After that, all those dozens of moments before where she could feel _something_ between them seemed to take sharper focus, becoming bigger, brighter and that much more undeniable. Kate, who barely knew them, had been able to pick up on their feelings for each other with a little help from the sensitivity spell. And while Angel wasn't big on meddling, it seemed like he'd been gently trying to help Cordelia pull the blinders off for quite a while. After the stakeout, no one had to help her see it for herself. It was all so clear. Cordelia knew what was there waiting for her. It was real, and it was scary, but she definitely wanted it.

The floodgates had opened wide.

And just like that, it was gone. _He_ was gone. Leaving her alone to face the flood of feelings she'd been so afraid of in the first place. The term "drowning in sorrow" had taken on a whole new meaning for her at that point. She'd never known a heart could ache so literally. Or break so completely.

"Where did you go just now, Princess?" He asks her with a curious smile, breaking her out of the haze of memories. "Seems you were miles away."

"Not miles. Years." She replies, swallowing away the lump that had settled in her throat. "I spent so much time ignoring what was right in front of me." She pauses, knowing he can feel what she's feeling. Knowing they are finally on the same page. "Ignoring _this_."

"I tried to tell ya." He says, lightly fingering a loose strand of her hair. "But you weren't ready for it. Your stubbornness was actually one of my favorite things about ya, to be honest."

"Well, I'm not the same girl you knew before." She says, inching her lips closer to his with every word. "I don't have a whole big superficial list of prerequisites for my dates these days. Well, except for the brave and interesting thing, but you seem to have that covered…" She nuzzles her nose against his as she laughs softly, teasingly. "You didn't have to wine and dine me. I would've been just as happy to eat take-out on my couch and watch a movie together."

Doyle feigns disappointment, "Ah, now ya tell me."

"There's one part that isn't optional, though." She says huskily, eyes locked to the lips she hopes will be taking her breath away any minute now.

Her meaning isn't lost on him. He leans down, following up her words with a delicious kiss. The heat quickly increases to searing levels, as he pushes her back against her front door. Only as her head bounces lightly against the wood, does it occur to her to unlock it. After all, if his body feels this good pushing her against the front door, imagine how it'll feel once she gets him inside where he can push her up against so many other firm surfaces. She fumbles for her keys, not wanting to break away from his lips. Finally, she gives up and bangs a few times, still locked in the vise of their scorching kiss. Dennis comes to the rescue, opening the door behind her. Only then do they mutually agree to come up for air. She steps through the doorway and pulls Doyle inside as well. "Handy fella', that Dennis." He remarks, under his breath.

As the door closes behind them, she is already moving back into Doyle's personal space. "Guess this means I'm invited in for a nightcap, yeah?" She finds his constant need to crack jokes endearing, and yet, she has never wanted to shut him up more than she does right now.

She uses her tongue to do so, hoping he'll take the hint. Then she moves away again in order to help him out of his suit jacket. And by help him, she really just yanks and throws. "Uh… Cordy?" He asks. "Does Dennis watch everything ya do?"

She laughs as she unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt. "He's a ghost, Doyle. He doesn't have eyes."

His brows furrow at that response and he is about to ask another question, when he is suddenly _very_ distracted by the placement of her hand. She kisses him again. "Don't worry about Dennis, okay?"

Gripping Doyle's hand, she leads him down the hallway to the room he'd so recently become acquainted with. She kicks off her heels on the way, and pauses in the doorway of her bedroom to let his lips, and the rest of him, catch up with her. She pulls back at the last second, teasing him.

As Cordelia moves backwards into the room, Doyle follows, eventually catching her and slipping his arms around her waist. She, in turn, wraps her arms around his neck and smiles up at him, enjoying the view. "We're pretty lucky, huh? To be getting a second chance at this."

"I'm definitely feelin' luckier than ever before, darlin'." He mumbles, kissing her with a heady mixture of demandingness and gentleness.

Buttons are unbuttoned. Zippers are unzippered. Fabric drops to the floor. Kicked aside as they stumble to the side of the bed wearing only their most intimate garments.

She pulls back again, more than a little out of breath. "Tell me…"

"Mmm." He responds, fixated on her lips, which are still close enough for him to capture with his own.

"What does it feel like? " She asks, keeping them just a breath apart. "When you aren't touching me?"

He is so close to her mouth that it takes strength not to complete the kiss. Instead, he hovers there and whispers back, "Like I'm on fire."

He kisses her even as his words cause a deep ache inside her, but somehow in that moment, it only amplifies the pleasure of having him close. She clings tighter to him in response. He moves away from her lips, kissing the soft flesh along her jawline. As he does so, he speaks soothingly against her skin, "That's not what I feel now."

"What do you feel now?" She whispers, as her head drops back, enjoying the feel of his warm mouth as it dips lower on her neck.

He moves back toward her lips, holding her face with his hands so she is forced to meet his eyes, which are twinkling mischievously as he hangs there a moment. "Now it feels like you're on fire," he breathes, reclaiming her lips. She kisses him back hungrily; she had been starving for him, starving for this moment.

They tumble horizontally across the bed as they kiss each other senseless, the passion between them steadily growing, guiding their movements.

And then…the energy between them changes rapidly and unnaturally, as if their bodies were made entirely of magnets locking into place. Even as Cordelia enjoys the strange sensation, she registers that it's not _normal_. It's not human. And she probably shouldn't be okay with that…but for some reason, she is. Completely. She gives in, letting the magnetic force control her, digging her nails into the soft fleshy surface that now seems to be enveloping her. It's warm and safe and sending vibrations of pleasure through every cell of her body. She can't let go even if she wants to. Not that she wants to.

Which is why she is shocked and horrified to find herself ripped away from that warm, safe, pleasurable feeling. Free-falling into an abyss.

Far, far away she hears a muffled scream, but she can't be sure if it's real or imagined.

It's wrong. It's all wrong. Something is wrong and she can't stop it. Can't even remember what "it" is.

She reaches out, but all she finds is empty space.

And then blackness.

* * *

Cordelia raises her heavy head from the soft surface beneath her. She squints at the dim room that seems overly bright, raising a hand to support her throbbing brain. She feels as if she went on a bender the night before, which she's fairly certain was not the case.

It takes her a few minutes to remember what she _had_ done the night before, but once it comes back to her, she scans the room again looking for any sign that Doyle is still there or had ever been there in the first place. She sees nothing, aside from her own dress tossed on the floor beside the bed. She notes the light quilt thrown over her on the bed, wondering if she has Doyle or Dennis to thank for it. Probably Dennis.

She sits up slowly, but her head aches so terribly, that she is forced to lie back down. As she lies there staring at the ceiling she is overcome by a feeling of loss and grief. Tears well up in her eyes for reasons she can't explain and she considers the possibility that she had somehow imagined the that Doyle should be beside her. Had he been there at all? Was he even alive?

The longer she lies there, the more clear her memories from the earlier portion of the evening become, slowly reassuring her that Doyle had been there with her at some point. She remembers the restaurant, she remembers the kissing that began at her front door and continued into her bedroom. She remembers the words he had whispered into her ear. The feel of him in her arms. He was real and alive last night. And he had been so loving toward her. She focuses on the warmth those memories bring… and then hits a cold wall of nothingness.

It's like the night was erased from her mind, and Doyle had been erased from her bed.


	13. Chapter 13: Burnt Edges

***** CHAPTER 13 *****

Angel and Wes enter the lobby together, Angel cradling Connor in his arms. They had just returned from seeing Connor's pediatrician, where he had gotten a glowing bill of health. Angel was pretty much on top of the world, knowing that no matter what else might be going on, he is at least doing right by his son. "'As healthy as a human can be.' I mean… that's pretty great, right?"

Wes nods, seeming slightly less enthusiastic. "I would say so."

"You think he'll be an athlete someday? I'm thinking of ordering him a baby-sized hockey jersey. Cute, right?" Angel is too absorbed in the infant to notice any reservations on Wes' part.

Both men look up as Cordelia comes down the stairs, wearing dark sunglasses and looking very much like she's rocking a massive hangover. Angel refocuses on the baby in his arms, trying not to think too hard about what transpired between his two best friends on their date the previous evening. It's done. They are together. It's none of his business.

"Hey." Cordelia says, approaching the two men and the baby at the front of the hotel counter.

Angel keeps his eyes on Connor, "Say hi to Aunt Cordy. Tell her all about how healthy the doctor says you are." He holds Connor out toward her, causing him to do a little tap dance on the counter top.

She smiles weakly in reply, "That's great news."

Angel notices the strain in her voice, and realizes that she might be suffering from something more than a hangover. Before he can say anything, Wes pipes in from beside him, "Cordelia? Are you ill?"

"I've been better." She says dully. "Um… have either of you seen Doyle this morning? He's not in his room."

"We just got back." Wes answers, "But I didn't see him earlier."

"Weren't you… um, with him last night?" Angel asks, knowing full well that she was—people may play coy, but vampire senses don't lie. He places Connor back in the crook of his arm, trying not to be alarmed by her strange demeanor.

"I was." She replies, moving toward the coffee maker behind them and pouring herself a cup. "But we didn't spend the whole night together." She says the last part with her back turned. Once she finishes filling the cup, she turns back to face them, taking a sip. She hasn't bothered to remove her sunglasses.

"He came back to the hotel last night. Right?" Her question takes Angel by surprise. From behind her shades, her eyes dig into him for an answer he doesn't have.

"I'm sure he did." Angel replies, bouncing Connor softly to keep him from fussing.

"But you don't know for sure?" Her voice takes on a more urgent quality that Angel can no longer ignore.

"Cordelia, what happened?" He asks, matching her worried tone.

She takes another sip from her mug, clearly deliberating about how much she should tell them. "I can't remember." She replies matter-of-factly.

Angel and Wes exchange an uncomfortable glance. "So… um…" Angel clears his throat. "This is about last night? You and Doyle had a lot to drink…"

"No." She replies. "I had one glass of wine at the restaurant. He might've had two. We weren't drunk when we got back to my place."

Angel would have gone pale, if he wasn't already so pale to begin with. "Oh, so… you took him back to your place."

"Yeah, and everything was fine when we got there. I mean, better than fine." A vaguely dreamy expression crosses her otherwise peaked face. "He was _so_ … and I was _soo_ … and it was _sooo_ … _ugh!_ " Her expression switches from elation to frustration as both Angel and Wes try and follow exactly what it is she's trying to tell them.

"Perhaps, I should take Connor…" Wes begins, reaching for the baby in an obvious attempt to extricate himself from the awkward conversation, but Angel throws him a look that begs not to be left alone with this.

"Wait, Wes. I need your help." Cordelia says, reaching out a hand to stop him from leaving.

"My help?" Wes asks in surprise.

"Yeah. I think something supernatural happened to us. Like a spell or something." She says, taking a long sip from her coffee mug. As if that explained everything, meanwhile, neither one of them have any idea what she is talking about.

Angel shifts Connor in his arms, wrinkling his brow. "Wait… so, back up. What happened exactly?"

She rolls her eyes in frustration, thinking she had already made herself perfectly clear. "Doyle and I. After we had the world's best date, we were getting all hot and heavy at my apartment. And can I tell you, that boy isn't afraid to make with the foreplay. He really puts the _hot_ in—."

"Cordelia." Angel interrupts, trying not to sound as bothered as he feels. "I think we get the picture. What _else_ happened? The part where you think there was a spell?"

"Well, that's the million-dollar question!" She replies in exasperation. "So yeah, me and Doyle. Making with the hot and the heavy pre-show. And then just as we were getting to the main attraction… _Poof!_ Nothing."

Wes drops his eyes to the floor, mumbling uncomfortably. "I don't see how I can be of any help."

Angel clears his throat, also unable to meet her gaze. "That… um… maybe you should go easy on him. He's… uh… been through a lot."

Cordelia looks from Angel to Wes, not understanding their embarrassed reactions. Then, she gets it and her eyes go wide behind the shades. "Oh, no. Not like _that_. I mean, I don't know what happened because the _picture cut out completely_. My memory got wiped or something." She shrugs weakly.

"Oh, dear." Wes replies, concern replacing the previous embarrassment.

"What about Doyle?" Angel asks. "He can't remember either?"

Now it's Cordelia 's turn to look embarrassed. "I'll be sure to ask him when I see him."

Angel clenches his eyes shut as he absorbs that bit of information.

"Um…" Wes looks mildly uncomfortable as he asks his next question. "What makes you think there was something supernatural at play here?"

Cordelia gives him a look that says it couldn't possibly be anything else. "Aside from the fact that Doyle was recently resurrected, or the fact that he suffers from agonizing pain that can only be cured by my touch, or the fact that we're both part demon? There's also the general fact that it's always something supernatural around here."

"Point taken." Wes concedes.

"And I have a vague recollection of…not really being in control of myself." She holds up her fingers, inspecting her nails. "I had some skin under my fingernails this morning." She looks down at the floor. "Along with some blood. I don't remember that part, but seems like I might've gotten a bit… carried away?"

Angel's jaw is tight as he forces himself to consider the possibilities of what may have happened. "Was it like… y'know." He clears his throat uncomfortably. "What happened to us at the ballet?"

Cordelia stares into her coffee mug, swirling the contents as she replies absently, "No, this was different. I was still _me_. And I can remember everything from the ballet." She doesn't elaborate any further and Angel doesn't push her for any more details.

"Probably not a possession, then." He concludes lamely.

Wesley ponders for a moment. "If it isn't too personal for me to ask..." He directs his question at Cordelia, trying to keep his voice as clinical-sounding as possible. "As you pointed out, you are part demon now. Is Doyle the first man you've been intimate with since your change?"

"Yeah." Cordelia admits. "You think it's part of my demon-ness?" She asks worriedly.

"That is one possibility." Wes suggests. "We don't know anything about your demon physiology. Perhaps you react differently to certain… stimuli."

"Like a sexual Jekyll and Hyde? Turn me on and I'll tear you apart! Oh God, that would be a nightmare." Cordelia admits. Her face drops from concern to fear. "What if I hurt him? What if that's why he left?"

"They're just fingernails, Cordelia, you couldn't have hurt him that badly." Angel reasons. "Some guys even like that sorta thing. So I've heard." He clears his throat awkwardly, quickly changing his train of thought. "Besides, it doesn't explain the memory loss."

"Doesn't it, though? What if I suddenly morphed into a giant, sex-crazed, hell-beast and grew a pair of talons?" Cordelia widens her eyes in apprehension. "I _really_ hope I didn't grow a pair of talons."

"No, Angel's right. While I'm no expert on the subject, sexually-induced-metamorphosis is a fairly rare demonic trait." Wes interjects.

"Rare?!" Cordelia yelps. "Rare is not good. Rare means it's possible that's what happened."

"Not unless you're part Kaglugah Demon. And, even so, they don't have talons." Wes counters. "Point of fact, most demons retain their memories during and after transformative states. They're not like Werewolves, in that regard."

"So, that's a big no, then." Cordelia sighs with relief.

Wes goes on thoughtfully. "You're sure it wasn't chemically induced?"

Cordelia's head shoots up and her eyes drill fiercely into Wesley's. "Are you saying you think Doyle drugged me?"

Wes exchanges a nervous look with Angel, "Actually, I was asking if you're taking any medications?"

"Oh." Cordelia narrows her eyes behind her sunglasses, not entirely sure she believes that's what he was asking. "I'm not on anything. Not anymore."

"Spells, then. We'll start researching memory-related spells." Angel shifts Connor into Wes' arms, nodding him to his office. "I think Connor wants to help you with the research, Uncle Wes. If you don't mind the company."

Wes takes the baby and gratefully slips into the back office, leaving a sympathetic Angel behind to deal with Cordelia's raw nerves. "If there's anything else that happened that you want to talk about…" Angel begins.

"Can you guys _please_ stop making it sound like Doyle used some kind of roofie on me, mystical or otherwise?" Cordelia cuts him off abruptly. "That's not what happened. I wanted him, he wanted me. We were two consenting adults who wanted the same thing. And, to be honest, I'm pretty sure we didn't even have sex. Which, I guess, is a relief under the circumstances, but not really a relief in the grand scheme. Because, in case it wasn't obvious, that's what we were _intending_ to do before this spell thing ruined everything!"

"No one said this was Doyle's fault." Angel tries to sound convincing, for her sake, but he suspects that even if this wasn't something Doyle did on purpose, it was somehow Doyle's fault.

"This is me you're talking to, Angel. I can tell what you're thinking. Both of you." Cordelia insists, placing her coffee mug down on the counter and crossing her arms across her body. "You think he caused this—whatever it was. Why else would he just leave me there, right? Without a note or anything. He wouldn't have disappeared like that unless… he wasn't himself." Her voice gets smaller and sadder as she finishes her thought.

"If it was a spell, he could still be under its influence." Angel agrees, although he suspects she wasn't merely referring to a spell. "When he comes back, we'll ask him."

"You sound so sure he'll come back." She says softly. "But I have this horrible feeling he won't."

"He will." Angel replies, using his most reassuring voice. "Where else would he go?"

"But what if he doesn't?" She insists, her voice taking on a bit more urgency. "What if it's like last time?—I get a small taste of what we could've had and then it all gets taken away. It'd be so much worse this time…"

As she trails off, Angel sees the despair in her eyes; remnants of the deep scars left by Doyle's initial loss. Even with him back in her life, the fear of losing him all over again still lingers. It still eats away at her.

"If he doesn't come back, I'll go and find him." Angel insists. "But, for right now, let's worry about you, okay? Let's find out what happened to you."

She nods dejectedly. "I know…I'm jumping to the worst conclusions. It's just that the night was so perfect. I haven't been that happy in… well, pretty much _ever_. Why couldn't the forces of evil have taken the night off, just this once? Just let us have that moment, y'know?"

Angel pulls her into a hug, wishing he could squeeze the sadness right out of her. Instead, all he can do is give her hope that everything will turn out okay. "You're going to have another one of those perfect nights, Cordy. I promise."

* * *

Cordelia sits in one of Lorne's plush chairs, holding the cocktail he handed her awkwardly. She'd never really been much of a day drinker, and since she already feels like she'd spent the night pounding shots of tequila, the alcohol in her glass is even more unappealing than it would be on a normal day. She places it on the side table and waits patiently for Lorne to join her, which he does as soon as he places a garnish in his own drink.

Angel paces restlessly behind her, upping her anxiety level considerably. While she is grateful for his concern, she wishes he could be a little more zen under the circumstances.

"Alright, cupcake, shall we get this show on the road, or what?" Lorne says easing into the seat across from her. "I'm guessing you'll be singing me a sad song this afternoon."

"That obvious, huh?" Cordelia asks rubbing her sweaty palms on her jeans.

"That you want to sing for me?" Lorne asks. "Or that you're having a pretty lousy day? Because both are coming through loud and clear. If you'd rather talk than sing, that's fine, too."

Cordelia gives him a thankful smile. "I think the singing will help more than the talking." She gestures to the anxious vampire making a line in the carpet behind her. "Him, I mean."

"Uh, big guy… You mind?" Lorne asks, giving him a pointed look. Angel takes the hint, folding his arms and leaning on the back of Cordelia's chair.

Lorne gestures for her to begin whenever she is ready. She clears her scratchy throat, but has no misconceptions about her singing ability. She's terrible, to say the least. " _I can't get no… satisfaction. I can't get no… satisfaction. 'Cause I try… and I tryyy… and I tryyyy… and I tryyyyy…"_

Lorne gives a little clap. "The Stones. Nice choice, even if it was a tad on the nose."

"Is that enough?" She asks hopefully.

Lorne takes a sip of his cocktail, nodding approvingly. "More than enough. Your whole life just flashed before my eyes." He winks at her. "Impressive stuff."

"You can file away the majority of the Cordelia chronicles for a rainy day. I just need to know whatever you can tell me about last night's chapter."

Lorne leans back in his chair, giving a little shrug, "Nothing that you don't already know, but you were clearly with Doyle. Some of his residual energy is still visible on your aura. Very complimentary, I might add."

"He's on my aura?" Cordelia asks incredulously. She kind of likes the sound of that.

"What else?" Angel interjects impatiently.

Lorne arches a brow at him before turning his focus back on Cordelia. "I assume what you really want to know is this next part…. You were recently under the influence of a spell."

"I knew it!" She cries out, feeling validated. She turns around giving Angel an I-told-you-so look. Angel doesn't look quite as thrilled by the revelation.

Lorne continues, "Looks like it was some pretty powerful mojo, hence the mystical hangover. I suspect it was designed to be psychic-proof—cloaked and untraceable- I can't tell what kind of spell it was or what it may have done to you while it was active. All I know for sure is that the effects were temporary. I'm reading residue, nothing more."

Cordelia nods along with Lorne's words. She's glad to have her suspicions confirmed, even if no answers are readily apparent. "If it walks like a supernatural duck and quacks like a supernatural duck. It's a supernatural duck."

"It was a duck spell?" Lorne asks, taking another sip of his drink. "Sounds kinky."

"So you can't tell who cast it?" Angel asks from over her shoulder. She turns around to shoot him a warning look. While it is a valid question, she hates the implications that come along with it.

"Do I really have to explain what untraceable means?" Lorne replies offhandedly. "Like I said, powerful. Whoever cast it knows their magic."

"Okay, so it's over now?" Cordelia inquires. "No side-effects? Nothing… wrong with me?"

"You are currently spell-free, buttercup." Lorne confirms. "And once the hangover passes, you'll be right as rain."

"That's a relief." Angel pipes in, relaxing slightly. "I guess."

"Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything I should know about my future?" Cordelia asks hopefully, trying not to sound too eager.

Lorne takes a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully and eyeing Angel with concern. "You still want an audience for this part, sweetie pie?"

Cordelia gives a dismissive nod in Angel's direction, "Angel can hear anything you have to say. We don't have any secrets."

Lorne looks like he wants to argue, but proceeds semi-reluctantly, "Well… you're basically a big, flashing neon sign. I'd be a terrible psychic if I didn't at least address what you're putting out there."

"I am?" Cordelia asks. "She is?" Angel asks in unison.

"Doyle." Lorne clarifies. "You're all tied up in knots wondering whether or not he's coming back."

"And is he?" Cordelia asks nervously, wringing her hands.

"As far as I can see, muffin, he is a featured player in your future." Lorne assures her.

She breathes a sigh of relief at the knowledge that he will come back eventually, and then turns a hopeful gaze back on Lorne. "Do you know if we'll be together? I mean, will we… be in love?"

Lorne bites his lip, flashing another furtive glance at Angel, who is not looking in his direction, but is surely listening intently. "I think you already know the answer to that second question, sweetie. But the first question… well, as the song goes, sometimes love just ain't enough." As her face falls, he reaches out to grab her hand. "I'm not saying you _won't_ be together. I'm saying I can't give you a simple yes or no answer. Truth is, there are too many diverging paths. Some good, some… _really_ not good."

"Is that unusual?" She asks worriedly.

"Not when it comes to affairs of the heart." Lorne replies, pulling his hand back and lifting his drink once more. "Will you love each other? That's an easy one. It's always the same answer. Will you end up with a happily ever after? I really can't say. If there are too many possibilities, things go all blurry. And you two are blur central in that regard."

Lorne studies her stressed features for a moment, before closing his eyes and rubbing his temple absently, trying to interpret the jumble of images he had glimpsed. He knows the immediate future will be rocky, but he would like to give her some hope to cling to. It might make all the difference as she chooses the path toward her future. "I can tell you about one of the possibilities I saw, but I want you to take it with a _giant heaping ocean_ of salt, because it's in a state of flux, meaning, current events are shaping what's to come."

"Don't current events always shape the future?" Angel asks, skepticism evident in his voice.

"Some more than others, crumb bun." Lorne explains. "As I just explained, I can see many possible futures, but I can usually tell which outcomes are more likely than others. Cordelia's future with Doyle has no such distinction, because it's not entirely in her control. I'd need to read them both together to have a more complete picture."

"Okay." Cordelia agrees, scooting closer to the edge of her seat and resting her elbows on her knees in anticipation. "Tell me my possible future."

Angel taps his fingers nervously on the back of her chair until Lorne shoots him a pleading look. He stops, shoving his hands in his pockets instead.

"There is at least one version of this story where you end up in the family way. Maybe more than one version. But one, in particular, that appears rather soon-ish." Lorne sips his drink, gauging her reaction.

"You mean, like…" Her eyes slowly widen as a possibility she'd never previously considered unfurls before her. "A baby?"

"Doyle's baby?" Angel chirps. Now that his restless behavior had ceased, Cordelia had almost forgotten he was there.

"Like I said. _In flux_." Lorne clarifies. "There is no baby. Cordelia is not pregnant. But _,_ if this possible future comes to pass, Doyle would be the responsible party."

Cordelia tries not to get too excited by what she's hearing, but the sound of her pulse gets increasingly louder in her ears. She had never considered having a family of her own, assuming that her life as a champion was far too dangerous for child rearing. But, the presence of Connor had changed things. If he could grow up with a vampire as a father, then surely a couple of half-demons could raise their own child in a similar fashion. She hadn't been consciously aware of how much she wanted that for herself until it was dangled right in front of her. "How do I get that possible future?" She hears herself ask.

Angel turns his back on them; it's clear from his body language that he needs a minute to digest this information. Lorne keeps his attention on Cordelia, since this is her future at stake. "As far as I can tell, the old fashioned way should do the trick."

A slow smile spreads across her lips. "Wow."

Lorne pats her knee affectionately. "I hope that helps answer your question."

"Can I ask you something else?" She says, remaining in her attentive posture. "Since I know you read Doyle."

"I wasn't really able to read him." Lorne replies, setting his now empty glass down on the table beside him. "Not with… well, you know."

"He told me about the pain. That's actually what I wanted to ask you." She swallows heavily, trying not to let it upset her. "He said it felt like he was on fire."

Lorne doesn't meet her eyes as he recalls the feelings he experienced compliments of Doyle. "Having never been on fire, I can't really say. But, it doesn't sound like an entirely inaccurate description. It wasn't just skin-deep, either. It went straight on through."

"How could we have not known?" She gasps, reacting to the imagery Lorne provided. "I don't understand how he could hide something like that for so long."

"It was an eye-opener, that's for sure." Lorne confirms. "Our friendly neighborhood Irishman is much stronger than he appears. Like Titanium strong."

"But he doesn't have to be strong anymore." Cordelia sulks. "Not when I can help him. I don't understand why he's out there right now, torturing himself, when he could be with me."

"Well, if he is choosing that torture rather than the sweet bliss that is your arms, honey bun, then there's probably a good reason for it." Lorne points out wisely.

"Or, he might not be torturing himself." Angel says quietly, the wheels turning.

* * *

Doyle doesn't return to the hotel that evening.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.


	14. Chapter 14: Caught In The Net

***** CHAPTER 14 *****

Angel knows the moment Doyle finally stumbles back into the Hyperion. Granted, he'd spent every waking moment, and many of his non-waking moments, wondering where Doyle had gone and when he'd return. Angel had searched all of the recent places they'd gone together, as well as some of the old haunts Doyle had shown him back in the day. No one had seen Doyle in the past few days. Some hadn't even known he was alive.

As Angel can now see, he is alive, but he does not look particularly well, as evidenced by his slow procession up the stairs to his room. And he may be more unwell after Angel gets through with him, based on the things Angel is currently picking up with his heightened senses.

As Doyle heads down the corridor to his room, Angel stalks him silently from the shadows. Doyle stops walking, clearly sensing Angel behind him. An impressive feat considering that Doyle is more than half in the bag, is not in his demon form, and Angel is extraordinarily stealthy to begin with. Doyle says nothing; standing with his head bowed, wavering slightly on his feet. "Shoulda' known you'd be watchin' for me."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Angel asks, stepping into the light. Although it is phrased as a question, it is not, in fact, a question.

"Not particularly." Doyle replies, back turned, head still directed toward the carpet.

"Where have you been?" Angel tries again, adding an edge of warning to his voice, but maintaining his distance.

"You and I both know where I've been." Doyle finally raises his head and turns his body slightly so the light overhead reveals his disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes and heavy bags. The suit he's been wearing for days is filthy and wrinkled. "You can smell 'em all over me, yeah? I'll give ya' one guess where a fella' might find that many willing female companions."

Angel winces at Doyle's callous admission. Of course, Angel can smell the other women all over Doyle. Most of them weren't even human, as far as he could tell. But the questions remain—Why would he do that to Cordelia? Why would he do it at all? And how could he waltz back into the hotel expecting that Angel wouldn't call him out on it?

Angel sighs heavily, disappointment etched into his face. "Why?"

"Cordelia didn't tell ya what happened?" Doyle asks, swaying slightly.

"She doesn't remember." Angel says dangerously. He watches Doyle's face for signs of what he might think of that information, but all Angel sees is a very drunk man, fighting to stay on his feet.

"That's just as well." Doyle slurs, scratching at the stubble that covers his jawline.

"You were cured? Is that what happened?" Angel says the words tightly, trying to control his temper. The thought of Cordelia's excited smile as Lorne spoke of her possible future with Doyle causes Angel's fists to clench involuntarily. The man currently standing before him is far from worthy of that possible future or any other as it pertained to her. Angel feels heartbreak on her behalf, not to mention his own. He had been more than willing to accept that she wanted to be with Doyle, when he had assumed Doyle would do right by her. Now everything appeared to be very, _very_ wrong.

Doyle blinks a few times at Angel as if confused by his last statement. The alcohol emanates from his pores, wafting down the hallway. He finally slurs with a vaguely bitter smile. "Looks like." He gives a clumsy little bow that nearly causes him to topple over. "So, I think it's time for me to go."

"I don't think you're going very far." Angel snorts. "You can barely stand."

Doyle hiccups, which causes him to morph into his demon form. "I mean…" _Hiccup_. Human. "I'm leaving." _Hiccup._ Demon. "For good." _Hiccup._ Human.

"You don't mean that." Angel replies.

"Ah…" _Hiccup_. Demon. "…but I do." _Hiccup._ Human.

Angel shakes his head in disgust. "There's no point talking to you right now. Sleep it off, Doyle."

Doyle closes his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall behind him. "I have to get away from Cor-" _Hiccup_. Demon. "—delia."

That's the final straw. Angel doesn't want to hit Doyle, but the temptation is getting to be a little overwhelming. He grits out his next words, "Don't say things you're going to regret."

Doyle, still leaning against the wall, rolls his head back and forth. When he reopens his red demon eyes, they finally appear somewhat lucid. They land squarely on Angel. "You don't understand, Angel, man…"

"I understand." Angel simmers. "You're not the man you used to be."

"I am the same man." Doyle argues, but without much conviction. And it sounds even harder to believe coming from the mouth of the demon.

"Well, that's real nice, Doyle." Angel says, lacing his voice with sarcasm. "You got what you needed from her and now you're taking off. I guess I never knew you were such a class act."

It's harder for Angel to read Doyle's demon face than it is to read his human face, but he no longer appears to be drunk. Angel suspects that his demon form sobered him up considerably. Doyle pulls himself away from the wall and stands upright without a hint of instability. "Just what is it you think I did to her, exactly?" He asks defensively.

"I don't know." Angel bites out, barely containing his fury. "Did you use a spell on her to cure yourself? Or was that just a happy accident?"

Angel sees a flash of hurt in Doyle's demon eyes. He morphs back into his human face, which more readily shows how wounded he is by Angel's accusations. "That's what you think of me now?"

Seeing the injured look on Doyle's face makes Angel back track a little. Why had he been so sure Doyle was responsible for Cordelia's memory loss and the spell that caused it? He hadn't wanted to believe it initially, but the more time that had gone by, the more he'd convinced himself that Doyle was to blame. And seeing him tonight, drunk and disorderly, stinking of other women, it all seemed to fit. Except Doyle's reaction certainly does not fit. Not unless he's gotten a whole lot better at playing poker.

"Tell me what happened." Angel insists, bringing his anger back down to below-boiling point.

"Does she think I'm a bad guy, too?" Doyle asks sadly, looking every bit the kicked puppy.

"I don't…" Angel realizes that he can't make up for his accusations, and he's still on the fence as to whether or not he should even try to make up for them. For now, the damage has been done. He settles for answering Doyle's question truthfully. "She's worried about you. As usual."

Doyle sniffs, staring down at his shoes. "Do me one favor, yeah? Don't tell her I came back here." There's a touch of desperation in his voice, laced with defeat.

As Doyle turns and proceeds down the hallway to his door, Angel doesn't move a muscle. "Why did you come back? You have nothing here. You could've just left."

Doyle pauses with his hand on his doorknob and gives Angel one final, wounded look, "Asking myself that same question right about now." With that, he enters his room, closing the door behind him and leaving Angel wishing he could re-do that entire conversation and end it with the part where he convinces Doyle to stay.

* * *

It's barely dawn. Doyle is dressed in a black button down shirt, baggy grey slacks and his brown leather jacket. Aside from the Claddagh ring that adorns his left middle finger, and a pillowcase stuffed full of clothes he recently bought at a thrift shop, he has no other possessions in the world. Out of the items he currently carries, only the jacket, the ring and the shoes are things he owned before he died. And he'd already spent every dime he'd earned working for Angel Investigations. Not that it matters to him. He had nothing before, he has even less now. Soon he won't even have his friends.

He assumes no one else is awake, which is why it's safe to move unhidden throughout the hotel. Even Angel must have gone to bed by now. Doyle hadn't bothered with sleep, even though it was likely his last chance to sleep in a comfortable place for the foreseeable future. Who knew where he'd end up next. His plan was to get as far from L.A. as half-humanly possible. And yet, his conviction to execute such plan evaporates by the second.

He is stalling. He knows he's stalling. He had lived a lonely, solitary life once before. It had almost ended badly for him on more than one occasion. It wasn't something he thought he'd willingly go back to, not after meeting Angel and Cordelia; not after becoming part of something bigger than himself. He hadn't come back to the Hyperion for a pillowcase full of recent thrift store acquisitions, but because he wanted a reason to stay. He wanted Angel to give him a reason.

Instead, Angel had reminded him why he needs to leave.

The double-edged sword that is the new, ready-to-be-loved Cordelia. If only he could go back to the way things were before, when he had thought he couldn't touch her. He had kept her at a distance and that had kept her safe. Now that they'd gotten closer, it would be nearly impossible to go back to that. Cordelia was no longer oblivious to his feelings, she would see right through any lies to the contrary. And she would persist. She would wear him down. Truth is, he doesn't trust himself to stay away from her, not if she is right there in front of him, wanting him. Not if she looks at him the way she did the other night.

He is strong, but not _that_ strong.

As Doyle crosses the dimly lit lobby, he notices a light on in Wesley's office. Apparently, there _is_ someone awake at this hour. As easy as it would be to slip out into the dewy morning and never look back, Doyle can't help but wonder if Wes can help him. Or, if he even would consider doing so. They aren't close; Doyle barely knows the man. Out of everyone in the hotel, he's spoken to Wesley the least and has always sensed an underlying current of mistrust. But, it is an option that Doyle hadn't previously considered, and he currently has no other ones. Wesley has been chained to his books since Doyle was first brought back; a betting man would put money on the fact that Wes has some information about Doyle that Doyle himself does not. And Doyle has always been a betting man.

Doyle approaches the office cautiously, and finds Wes asleep at his desk. His head resting on a large open book, piles of even larger, older looking books barricading him behind the desk. Doyle contemplates turning around and leaving, but stumbles over the foot of a chair, which successfully wakes Wesley with a jolt.

"Don't!" He yells, sitting up stock straight in his chair.

"Sorry, man." Doyle says, retreating to the doorway. "Didn't mean to give you a start."

"Oh, Doyle." Wes rubs his eyes beneath his glasses, slowly getting his bearings. "It's not you… I was…"

"Having a nightmare?" Doyle finishes. "Yeah, never woulda guessed."

"Recurring, in fact. I've had that one more times than I can count." Wesley stretches his arms and cracks his neck, setting himself more comfortably in his chair. Suddenly, he furrows his brow, giving Doyle a suspicious look. "You're back?"

"Uh… not really." Doyle replies, lifting the pillowcase full of his clothes. "On my way out."

Wesley looks him over. "Oh, I see."

"Angel knows." Doyle confirms, leaning in the doorjamb.

"And Cordelia?" Wes asks uncertainly.

"She doesn't." Doyle admits. Wes studies him for a moment, apparently contemplating a number of questions. Doyle cuts to the chase before he can bother. "I know I'm coming off like a real cad here, but I promise ya I didn't harm a hair on Cordy's head. And I'm leavin' so that I never do."

"Alright." Wes replies, sitting back in his chair. "But, if you don't mind my asking, why do you feel that's necessary?"

"I'm trying to figure that out myself. Those books of yours have a lot to say about me, yeah?" Doyle says pointing to the mounds of text in front of Wes.

Wes stands, moving out from behind his desk. "Not a lot, but some."

Doyle observes Wes closely. The man has an obvious tell. If they were playing cards, Doyle would've cleaned up big time. As it happens, interpreting prophecies is a different game altogether and from what Doyle can tell, he was just dealt the worst hand possible. "That bad, huh?"

Wes sits on the edge of his desk and folds his arms. "Worse."

"I'm guessing they failed to mention my winning personality." Doyle cracks and shifts his weight nervously. "Just give it to me straight, man."

Wes gives Doyle a sympathetic look. "The world as we know it is about to come to an end."

Doyle lets out a low whistle. "Oh, yeah. That's way worse than I thought."

Wes holds up a hand, "Your being here is tied directly to the pending apocalypse… as well as several other events that appear to be fast approaching."

"Geez, man." Doyle says pacing in the doorway. "How do I stop it?! What do I need to do?"

"I'm not sure there's anything you can do." Wes admits. "We all have our part to play in this. I believe yours is to stay and fight."

Doyle swallows hard. "Yeah… I can't do that."

"Why not?" Wes asks evenly.

"Because… " Doyle drops his eyes to the floor. "I might end up hurting someone I care about."

"You believe you're going to hurt Cordelia?" Wes surmises, standing up and leveling Doyle with a stare. Doyle gives him an affirming nod. "And you may very well." Wes continues stepping closer. "But, here's what I know, Doyle. You are a good man, who cares deeply about the people who live and work under this roof. You won't let harm come to Cordelia, or Angel, or anyone else. Not without a fight. And, trust me when I say, there is about to be a fight. I'm not sure all of us will make it through. I'm not sure any of us will."

"What if I'm on the wrong side of it?" Doyle chokes, putting a voice to the fear that's been building inside him.

Doyle sees something in Wes' eyes that appears to echo that same concern. "If you think leaving is the _only_ way that you can keep Cordelia safe, then, by all means, you should go. But, you're not the only danger she faces, and I suspect she'd be much safer with you at her side."

* * *

Fred enters the front doors of the Hyperion with Gunn, both bleary eyed from lack of sleep. It had been a long night spent staking out a possible vamp nest. They are holding hands, as they tend to do a lot these days. Gunn turns toward Fred, leaning down to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Why don't you go on up? Wes' light is on, I'll let him know we're back."

"Don't be too long." She says smiling up at him. "Seriously… don't. Because I'm so tired I'm liable to fall asleep in the shower and if you're not there to rescue me, I might drown."

"I'm sorry, did you just ask me to rescue you from the shower? Maybe I don't need to talk to Wes after all." He grins at her before leaning down to kiss her on the lips this time.

At that moment, a figure steps out of the back office. They both look up, expecting Wes, but instead it is Doyle standing before them. He looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

"Doyle!" Fred cries happily, not stopping to consider his less-than-thrilled expression. It had been days since she'd last seen him, and while she wasn't entirely sure what had made him disappear in the first place, she was thrilled to see him back amongst them, safe and sound. "Thank goodness you're back. We've all been so worried."

"Some more than others." Gunn mumbles. While he's not unhappy to see Doyle, he's also not thrilled at the effect Doyle's disappearing act had on all his friends.

Meanwhile, Fred's enthusiasm seems to make a positive impression on Doyle, his anxious expression gives way to a sliver of a smile. "Sorry to worry ya, love."

As Doyle steps around the counter, they notice the overflowing pillowcase under his arm.

"You're not leaving again, are you?!" Fred exclaims.

Gunn places a comforting arm around her shoulders, giving a little squeeze. "He's probably just looking for the laundry room. Isn't that right, Doyle?" Gunn gives Doyle a warning glance, pretty certain that is not, in fact, what he was doing. "Did you find it okay?"

"Ah… yeah. But I forgot the fabric softener." Doyle replies, hovering near the bottom of the steps.

"Angel must be happy your back." Fred hedges, wanting to say something useful, but feeling intimidated by the undercurrent of tension in the air.

Doyle's expression wavers a bit. "Actually, Fred, I'm betting you're currently the only resident of this hotel who's happy to see me. Connor might not mind so much, either."

"Charles is happy, too." Fred insists, placing a hand on Gunn's chest. "He's just grumpy because he hasn't had any sleep. Or a shower."

She gives him a meaningful look and Gunn decides to give an inch. "She's right. I could really use that _shower_."

Doyle gestures up the stairs. "Y'know, I didn't get much in the way of sleep, myself. I'll be seeing you both later, yeah?" He starts to walk up the stairs, but turns back at the halfway point. "I'd appreciate ya not telling Cordy I'm here. Just for the time being."

Fred absorbs his request and diverts her eyes, a sure sign that she's not in agreement. Gunn stares in defiant silence. Neither one of them is willing to lie to Cordelia on his behalf. Doyle nods at them in silent understanding. "I won't hold it against ya if you do, o'course."

As he continues up the stairs, Fred and Gunn watch him go. When he is out of sight Fred turns her gaze back up to Gunn. "You should've been nicer to him, Charles. He's obviously having a difficult time reassimilating. He needs our support."

"What about Cordelia?" Gunn shakes his head in disagreement. "I mean, I like the guy and all, but so far all he's done is cause her grief. Running off like that, without a word…that's not how you treat someone you love."

"I'm sure he had a reason." Fred insists. "They're gonna make up. It's like destiny or something, right? Star-crossed lovers, separated by death, finally reunited... they _have_ to make up."

"I never knew you were such a romantic," Gunn says with an affectionate chuckle. He takes her hand pulling her gently toward the stairs.

"There's a lot you don't know about me." Fred replies, in her best mysterious voice. "But, I'm willing to share."

Thoughts of Cordelia and Doyle are left behind as they make their way upstairs and into their own little world.


	15. Chapter 15: Release

*****CHAPTER 15*****

Cordelia sits outside on the dimly lit rooftop, enjoying the feel of the slight breeze against her skin. An hour earlier she had crossed the front courtyard, headed out of the hotel and then circled around to the alley to reenter through the back entrance. She had put on that particular show, in the off-chance that Doyle was watching and waiting for her to leave. After knocking on his door twice that afternoon, with no response, she had decided the best strategy was to retreat—or, in the very least, make it appear like she was retreating. After the little show, she had decided that the rooftop would be the best place to wait for him. She isn't sure if he'll come up right away, or if it would be hours from now, but she knows he will eventually come. It's his place. And it is pleasant enough of a spot, that she doesn't mind waiting.

She is reminded of the days immediately following Doyle's death, when his loss weighed heavily on her heart. She would sometimes sneak up to the rooftop of their old office building and sit just like this, thinking of him, imagining what could've been. She knew Angel had often done the same. One of the things she used to ponder was what may have happened on the day that never was—the day that they had lost when the Oracles rewound time. She had always wanted to ask Angel if he knew what she and Doyle had been doing on that day, but she knew it would probably hurt him to remember what he'd given up. So, instead, she just had to guess. She had a pretty good hunch margaritas were involved, because if they both thought they were about to lose their jobs, _of course_ , margaritas would be involved. And if she was feeling especially lonely, she imagined the margaritas would've lead to other things…

Out of her peripheral vision, she sees Doyle exit through the doorway of the stairwell. She had strategically seated herself behind the exit, so that he wouldn't see her right away. Her plan seems to have worked, because he takes several steps out into the windy evening air before freezing in place. He must sense her there—he's pretty good at doing that, she's noticed.

She jumps off her little perch and approaches him from behind.

"I thought you'd left." He says without turning around.

She continues toward him, finally walking into his field of vision. She has trouble reading his expression, but it's clear that he isn't happy to see her. She tries not to let that sting.

"I could say the same of you." She says, keeping her voice steady. "You told Angel you were leaving."

"I had a change of heart." He replies, shifting his weight on his heels, so he seems to stand a little taller.

"It seems that way." She says, not actually referring to his decision to stay. "It's a little soon for you to be going back on your promise."

He gives her a perplexed look. "My promise?"

"That you aren't going to leave me again." She explains. "I told you to say it, only if it was true."

He doesn't respond to that, looking very much like he regrets having made that particular promise. She steps a little closer to him, the blue-green light from the Hyperion Hotel sign falls across her face and casts a shadow behind her. "Don't you have anything to say to me?" She asks. "What happened the other night?"

He crosses his arms over his body and diverts his eyes toward the distant horizon. "Didn't Angel already tell ya? I'm cured now. That spell thing—what happened at your place—it cured me."

"He told me." She replies. "That's great… but it doesn't explain why you went all Houdini on me."

His eyes dart from her face back to the scenery nervously and then he sighs moving toward the edge of the roof. "I guess I was… scared to tell ya."

"Scared to tell me what?" She asks, following him a few steps, but still maintaining some distance.

He has his back turned to her once again as he says his next words. "The thing of it is… I don't think we should see each other again. Like, in the dating sense."

"What?" Her voice sounds harsh to her ears. His sounds even harsher, although his tone is fairly casual.

"We're better off as friends, yeah?" He only half turns his head, so she can see his profile, but it's impossible to read his expression from that angle. He quickly turns back in the other direction.

She stares at the back of his head, blinking in confusion. Her stomach does a flip and she gets that awful feeling in her ears, where she can hear the blood whooshing through her veins. "Are you seriously trying to friend-zone me right now?" She asks in disbelief.

"I just don't think we're compatible." He insists, placing his hands down on the wall. She can't be certain in the dim light, but he appears to grip it tightly.

The fact that he can't bring himself to look at her, tells her a lot. She chokes back the desire to cry and instead focuses on what her gut is telling her. "You're lying." She accuses. "Why are you lying? What happened to you?"

"I toldya. I'm cured now. I don't need you anymore!" He says emphatically, again turning only part of the way toward her.

She recoils as if struck. "Wow." She stares at him, waiting for the eye contact he is apparently incapable of giving her. "Whatever you're hiding must be bad if you're being this cruel."

Now he turns around and she can see the light reflecting in his eyes, making them an even more brilliant blue-green color than normal. Figures that he would suddenly look incredibly attractive, while stomping all over her heart. "Cordy, that's not what I meant." He says, back-tracking. "I'm not trying to hurt ya…"

"Not trying to hurt me?" There's an edge to her voice. She is a hair's breadth away from losing her cool, and under the circumstances she'd feel more than justified doing so. "Then what _are_ you trying to do? Because disappearing for days on end was bad enough; telling me we're not compatible… that's complete bull, Doyle. I know what we're like together. I felt it. We are _pretty damn compatible_."

"It wasn't real." He says simply, keeping his voice low and eyes averted.

"I don't believe that. You're not that good of a liar." She counters.

"I'm a better liar than y'know." He rebuts, arching a brow in her direction. "Maybe I know how to put on a good show when I need to. How do ya think I was able to walk around here for weeks in agonizing pain with ya being none the wiser? It's called bluffing, darlin'. And I'm quite capable of doing it." She doesn't want to believe the words coming out of his mouth, but she has to admit, he just got a whole lot more convincing.

"If what you're saying is true, then you aren't the man I thought you were." She says, trying to maintain her composure, even as she reluctantly starts to believe what he's telling her.

"I'm not." Doyle concedes. "You built me up in your mind all this time, because I wasn't here to prove ya wrong. The truth is you never knew me as well as you thought ya did. I'm sure Harry filled your head with talk about who I used to be. That's not who I became after she left, and it's not who I am now." He steps closer to her and she can detect no lies in his final statement, uttered with absolute conviction. "I'm no good for ya. If you don't believe anything else I say, believe that much."

She winces at that. "Why are you trying to make me hate you?"

He doesn't respond to that, absorbing her question as if it were a blow. She thinks she sees a glimmer of sadness in his eyes, but at this point, she can't trust her instincts when it comes to him. "I just want ya to see, I'm not some big hero, not a guy worth wastin' your time on."

"Apparently, we're strangers." She says bitterly. Even as she says the words, she still can't bring herself to believe them. Why he would want her to believe them is something she can't fathom. The tears bite at the back of her eyes, and she figures she should cut and run before she becomes a simpering little cry-Buffy.

At that moment, the ground begins to rumble beneath her feet, the building swaying slightly on its foundation. No, it's not the result of her heart crumbling to pieces; it's just an earthquake. She braces herself, waiting for it to pass, but a loud squeal turns her attention to the neon sign over her head. Before she has time to comprehend what is happening, Doyle is pulling her down to the ground and covering her body with his own. He shields her as the large H from the sign comes toppling down beside them. She hears the scrape of metal and the sizzle of neon as it crashes to the ground, but she feels no pain.

A few seconds later, the rumbling stops. Leaving only the sound of a fire alarm echoing up through the stairwell.

Doyle pulls back, so she can raise her head, but keeps his arms around her crouched body. As she looks up at him, she can see his eyes filled with panic and feel his heart thumping through his chest. "Are you okay?" He asks breathlessly.

Her eyes catch a flash of red, and she realizes that his right arm has been slashed by the falling sign. Blood is rapidly staining his shirtsleeve, but he doesn't appear to notice. His focus is entirely on her. His hands and eyes scan her body, ensuring that she wasn't harmed in any way.

Just like that, she has confirmation that she _does_ know exactly who he is. He is someone who would protect her without hesitation, and without any regard for his own safety or wellbeing. Before, now, always. He may be using words to lie to her, but his actions still speak the truth. And despite the circumstances and everything he'd just said to her, she can't help but notice the chemistry crackling between them. Nothing about that is a lie either. Some things can't be faked.

She wraps her arms around him in thanks and breathes a sigh of relief into his shoulder, as he, in turn, rubs her back soothingly.

"You're bleeding." She whispers into his ear.

"I'm fine." He replies, still holding her.

She pulls back, but keeps her arms locked around his neck so he won't be able to pull away from her completely. As her dark eyes meet his green ones, she hopes their sudden closeness will work to her advantage.

He continues to hold her for one more heated moment looking like he is torn between kissing her or running away. Apparently choosing the latter, he slowly and regretfully reaches up to unhook her arms from his neck and scoots backwards along the ground until his back hits the wall. He leans heavily into it and remains there, silently observing her.

She can see him wavering, perhaps wishing he could take back what he'd said to her only moments earlier. She crawls over to sit beside him, leaning her back against the wall as well. She takes in the gnarled metal sign sitting several feet away, thankful for his quick reflexes.

"Thanks." She says.

"Don't mention it." He replies.

Another moment of silence passes as they sit side-by-side, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Y'know… I had Lorne read me the other day." She says thoughtfully.

His brows come together, contemplating that statement. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She replies, "He told me some interesting stuff about my future." She pauses for a moment, debating how far she should take this. He'd already broken up with her. How much worse could it get? "Actually, it was about _our_ future."

She sees his jaw clench and his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. And then she sees something else. A glimmer of hope in his eyes. "He saw a future for us?"

She sees his hope and raises it one possible future scenario.

"He saw more than one." She admits. "But there was…" Her throat tightens up before she can finish her sentence. She's really putting herself out there, but this is Doyle she's talking to. She had spent years regretting the things she had held back from him the first time around. She couldn't do that again.

"What did he see, Princess?" Doyle asks gently.

Their eyes are locked together once again, and all the fear leaves her body. "A baby. _Our_ baby"

Her words do make an impact, but not at all the one she had expected. His face changes into a mask of terror. "No! That's impossible!" He cries. "We didn't have sex the other night, Cordelia. You can't be pregnant." He sounds as much like he's trying to convince himself as he is trying to convince her.

She had figured that she wouldn't get a joyous response, but the panic seems excessive. She feels like every one of her limbs has gotten heavier. "I'm not." She clarifies, a defensive tone creeping into her voice. "I said it's a _possible_ future. One that gave me a little hope for us, but I'm starting to see why Lorne said it's in flux."

"Oh, thank God!" He breathes out, placing a hand on his chest.

He might as well have stabbed her in the gut. "Thanks for giving me a preview of what it would be like." She snaps. "Also, great to know what _didn't_ happen the other night. Care to enlighten me further, since you seem to remember more than I do?"

Doyle registers how badly his reaction wounded her, but whatever apology passes through his brain, never makes it to his lips. "Trust me, Cordy. You don't want that future." He warns. "Not with me."

"You're right." She replies icily, eyes like daggers. "Close call."

"Closer than you know, darlin'." He says adamantly.

She can't bear to look at him. "Don't call me darling. Don't call me _anything_. Just get away from me."

He accepts that, standing up and brushing himself off. The fire alarm below is still blaring; he sniffs at the air, taking in the faint whiff of smoke that floats up the stairwell. His right arm is still dripping blood, some of which lands on the ground beside her.

He gestures to the stairwell, looking down at her. "We probably should be evacuating, yeah?"

She doesn't budge. "Go ahead."

"I'm not leavin' you here." He says frustrated. "I don't care how much ya hate me. If I have to throw ya over my shoulder and carry you down the stairs I will."

"I'd like to see you try." She snorts. She really can't imagine Doyle going all caveman on her.

Instead, he goes all demon on her, which means he is, in fact, serious. There was only one other time he'd willingly shown her that face and he meant business back then.

Realizing that she is outmatched, and not actually wanting to be trapped on the roof in a possible inferno, she finally pulls herself up off the floor and reluctantly allows the man who had just broken her heart, to lead her to safety.


	16. Chapter 16: The Caterpillar

***** CHAPTER 16 *****

Cordelia sits behind the front counter of the lobby, tapping her foot restlessly and trying to focus on the mound of paperwork in front of her. She'll do just about anything to distract herself from the wreckage of her love life, including filling out insurance forms... for insurance they don't actually have.

Nearby, Angel is bobbing Connor up and down on his hip playfully as he inspects the door to the weapons cabinet. She thought she had heard him mumbling something about locks and chains, but she hadn't been paying all that much attention. Instead she stares enviously at Fred and Gunn who are canoodling happily in the center of the room. Why couldn't it be that easy for her? Why must her love life be a tragedy rather than a fluffy romantic comedy?

She picks up on Wesley and Angel's conversation as they move closer to where she's seated. "As a matter of fact I was thinking, perhaps I'd take him to the park or the beach, just the two of us." Wes, who looks like he hasn't slept in days, is talking to Angel. "Maybe there'll be some time in the next day or two."

"Sounds great. Yeah, count on it." Angel replies enthusiastically, sidling up beside Cordelia and peeking over her shoulder. "You know we don't actually have insurance, right?"

A slim blonde woman enters the front doors of the hotel lobby, causing all of them to turn their attention toward her. Judging by her skimpy attire, it'd be a good guess she works the streets. She has a waify look about her, pretty but fragile.

"Can I help you?" Cordelia asks as the woman slowly approaches the counter.

"I…uh…" She looks around the expansive lobby, taking in the other curious faces. Her large blue eyes finally land on Connor, who rests on Angel's hip.

"This is Angel Investigations." Angel says. "It's kinda a family business. Is there something we can do for you?"

The woman smiles hesitantly and turns back toward Cordelia. "Does Doyle live here?" She asks. Her voice is sweet and musical, with an Irish brogue that sounds much different than Doyle's. She looks roughly the same age as Cordelia, although her waif-like figure makes her appear younger. She also looks like she hasn't slept anytime recently, something she and Wesley appear to have in common.

Cordelia's stomach drops as the young Irish woman mentions Doyle's name. "How do you know Doyle?!" She hears herself demand a little more rudely than she had intended.

As the woman's eyes go wide in alarm, Angel quickly covers. "What Cordelia means, is…yes, he lives here. Can we… tell him who's looking for him?"

The woman's eyes dart back to Cordelia with a worried look, but she steps closer to Angel and answers. "Madelaine." She shoots another glance at Cordelia. "He'll know who I am."

"Oh, he will. Will he?" Cordelia huffs from behind the counter. Angel gives her a warning look as Wes takes over the introductions. "Madelaine, is it? Why don't you take a seat, while Fred goes and tells Doyle you've stopped in." He motions to Fred who heads up the stairs. "Can I get you anything? Some coffee, or tea…?" He takes in her skimpy attire. "…or, perhaps, a sweater?"

Madelaine smiles politely, taking a seat on one of the plush red lobby couches. "I'll just wait for Doyle. Thanks."

Several minutes later, Doyle comes bounding down the stairs with Fred trailing behind him. He makes a beeline toward the blonde, who eagerly jumps out of her seat when he appears. Although it looks like she is going to jump right into his arms, she doesn't actually do so, instead stopping short right in front of him. "Maddy, whatya doin' here?" He looks genuinely surprised to see her and more than a little concerned.

Cordelia agitatedly turns toward Angel and mouths " _Maddy_?"

"You haven't been around. I… I've missed ya." She says, flashing him a wide familiar smile much to Cordelia's chagrin.

"That's real nice of ya." He replies, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning toward her conspiratorially. "But I know ya didn't come all the way down here for that. You run into some kinda trouble?"

"No, nothin' like that. Actually, it's… well, ya done so much for me, I wanted to help you." She risks a nervous glance back over to Cordelia. If looks could kill, she would have been a corpse for certain. She lowers her voice to a whisper. "I'm sorry for intrudin'…"

Doyle follows her nervous gaze and puts two and two together as he's faced with Cordelia's stony countenance. "Ah... you're not. You're more than welcome here." He turns back to Madelaine. "But, you're lookin' pretty tired there, love. Maybe you should come upstairs and take a load off?" His voice gets a little louder, ensuring that no one in the lobby would miss his next words. "In fact, you should probably stay the night."

Madelaine looks surprised by his invitation, but not unpleasantly. "Ya want me to stay? Here with you?"

"Old arrangement still stands." He adds, giving her a friendly wink. That elicits a wide grin from Madelaine who nods enthusiastically.

Cordelia fumes from behind the counter. "He's inviting her to _stay_ here?" She half-shrieks-half-whispers. "What does he think this is? A hotel?!"

Angel gives her a look and she amends her statement. "Well, it's not _that_ kind of hotel." She gives a pointed look at Madelaine, raising a brow.

As Doyle corrals Madelaine toward the staircase, the others look on in awkward silence. He heads up the stairs behind her, pausing at the bottom and directing his parting words toward Wesley, careful to avoid looking at either Angel or Cordelia. "Uh… don't worry. She'll be stayin' with me. You won't even know she's here." With that, he disappears up the stairs behind the tiny blonde.

If Cordelia were a cartoon character, steam would be coming from her ears. "Did he just take a prostitute up to his room?!"

Angel covers Connors ears with his hand. "Can we please not use that word in front of Connor?"

"We don't know if she is a prostitute, Cordelia." Wesley replies diplomatically, earning a _what-did-I-just-say?_ look from Angel.

"Oh, please. She clearly bought that dress at Hookers-R-Us." Cordelia scoffs. "He has some nerve inviting his _Pretty Woman_ wannabe here. He didn't even try to hide it!"

Fred and Gunn approach from across the room, where they'd been quietly observing. Fred leans across the counter to Cordelia. "I don't think he actually invited her, Cordy. He seemed really surprised she was here."

"Maybe they're… just friends." Angel adds lamely.

"I wonder how much his _friend_ charges him for a sleepover." Cordelia mutters scooping up her unfinished paperwork and shoving it in one of the filing cabinets haphazardly. "I'm sure they'll be up there braiding each other's hair and having pillow fights in their jammies."

"Jammies?" Angel questions.

"That's the part that threw you? 'Cause she had me at the hair-braiding." Gunn replies.

At that moment, Lorne enters from the rear courtyard waving for their attention, "Ah, guys? I think there's something you should... Ah, can you come here for a sec?"

As Angel, Fred and Wesley hurriedly follow Lorne outside, Gunn hangs back to wait for Cordelia who lags behind.

"You want me to go kick his ass?" He asks, only half-jokingly, putting an arm around her shoulders as she finally comes out from behind the counter. "Because you know I have no problem beating down on demons, especially when they deserve it."

She gives him a half-smile, leaning into the crook of his arm. "Tempting offer, but no." She gives a little shrug. "It's not like we're together. He already made that perfectly clear. But, I could've lived without the show and tell."

"You're taking it way better than I would be." Gunn says, obviously impressed by her stoicism.

"No, I'm not." She admits, stepping out from under his arm to face him. "It hurts like you wouldn't believe and I know I should be angry. I mean… I _am_ angry, because he's being a complete idiot. But I still..." She sighs sadly. "I want a reason to forgive him. Does that make me pathetic?"

"No, that makes you a pretty awesome mostly-human being." Gunn replies sincerely. "And, hey I get it. He is a likeable guy."

"You like him." She observes. "So the whole, _I'll-kick-his-ass_ thing was just to make me feel better?"

"He's a cool cat." Gunn confirms. "But, that doesn't mean I can't call him out on bad behavior. And breaking your heart is about as bad as behavior can get, as far as I'm concerned."

Cordelia smiles up at Gunn, thankful that she has such loyal friends when the going gets rough. She gives him a grateful hug. "Have I told you what a lucky woman Fred is?"

"I don't think you have." He replies with a grin. "But feel free to tell _her_ that anytime."

* * *

Angel finds Madelaine chain smoking in the courtyard. It's late night for a human, but for vampires and ladies-of-the-night it's roughly mid-morning. Compared to earlier, she now appears clean and well rested, obviously taking advantage of both Doyle's shower and his bed. She's also wearing one of his button-down shirts, which covers significantly more than the dress she'd been wearing earlier in the day.

Angel debates whether or not he should approach her, but curiosity wins out. He exits to the courtyard, making sure his footsteps are audible so as not to frighten her. She turns toward him and gives an uncertain smile. "Hi there. Angel… is it?" She asks softly. He pegs her accent for somewhere in the southern region of Ireland, probably County Cork.

He nods. "How are you enjoying your stay?" Asking that question makes him feel like he's legitimately running a hotel.

"Oh, it's lovely here." She replies, waving her cigarette around to indicate the ambiance of the courtyard. "Fancy."

"May I?" Angel asks, gesturing to the open seat on the stone bench beside her. She nods her approval, shifting over slightly to ensure he has plenty of room. "Where's Doyle?"

"Asleep. I think." She replies.

"Oh." Angel says. "So…you and he...um… Have you known him long?"

Her eyes are wide—they seem perpetually so. It gives her an innocent quality, which probably helps in her line of work. "Not really that long, no." She answers.

Angel tries again. He's great at intimidating information out of people, but has never been all that skilled at gossiping. "How'd you meet?"

She takes a drag of her cigarette, exhaling as she speaks. "He saved my life."

That sounds very much like a Doyle thing to do. Angel wishes he could press whatever button necessary to get this canary to sing, because at the moment, she isn't offering much except second-hand smoke. "Wow." Angel feigns enthusiasm. "That's just… I mean, how can you resist a guy who saves your life, right?"

She narrows her eyes at Angel suspiciously. "Doyle said you're a detective."

"That's right." Angel confirms.

"You oughtta be better at this." She replies, taking another drag of her cigarette. She gives him a knowing smile. "He also said you're his friend. I figure he'd tell ya the story if ya asked it."

Angel flashes her with a regretful look. "He might under normal circumstances…."

She gives him a tsk tsk, getting the subtext. She decides to take mercy. "There was a new client of mine—he was a demon, o'course." She says it so offhandedly that Angel does a double take. If she notices, she doesn't let on. "I'm usually pretty careful about who I see, since there's not many of us humans on the menu… and I prefer to stay off it in the literal sense, if y'know what I mean."

"You work at a demon brothel." Angel fills in the blanks.

"Demon escort service." She clarifies, flicking the ash off her cigarette. "I spend half my time at the brothel, though. It's good money. And not as dangerous as the house calls." She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, showing them off. "This one time I was with a Ubolli demon—they don't look real intimidatin', but apparently they have very little in the way of self-control. The thing nearly choked me to death behind that demon bar on Third Street. Thought I was done for." She shudders at the memory, absently rubbing her throat. "That's when Doyle came outta nowhere. He ripped its tentacles right offa me. Got himself walloped real good as a result. I wouldn't be here right now, if it wasn't for him steppin' in like that."

Angel nods, impressed but not surprised. "And you felt like you needed to pay him back for saving your life?"

"Well, yeah. I offered." She says with a laugh. "Woulda been my pleasure. He's rather easy on the eyes, isn't he? Without all the spikes, I mean."

For the first time, something she says genuinely does surprise Angel. Doyle had showed her his other face.

"Sadly, he declined." She continues, answering at least part of Angel's unasked question.

"But you obviously stayed in touch." Angel points out, still wondering how and why she made her way to their doorway this morning.

"He's a pretty nice guy, if ya hadn't noticed." She says, pulling out another cigarette from her pack and relighting it off the end of the old one. "He'd check in on me every now and then. When he showed up at the brothel last week, I thought he might've had a change of heart... finally come to sweep me off my feet." She laughs uproariously at that, coughing a bit from the cigarette smoke.

Angel had already guessed where Doyle had been, but the confirmation still twists his gut. "He was there for a few days." Angel supplies the details he already knows, hoping it'll keep her talking. "Not just with you."

"Not with me at all. Not the way you're implyin'." She corrects him. "I didn't think he liked 'em human, to be honest. Not until I saw that girl behind the counter today. She's the one who broke his heart, yeah?"

Angel isn't quite following. "Uh... you mean Cordelia." Angel clears his throat uncomfortably. He certainly doesn't want to discuss Cordelia with this woman.

"He never told me her name." Madelaine shrugs, flicking her newly lit cigarette and watching the ash float off into the air. "But I knew there was a _her_. I saw the damage done." She turns to Angel curiously. "What happened? She cheat on him or something?"

Angel holds up a hand, and gestures for her to rewind. "Can you go back to the part about Doyle not liking humans?"

She gives him a sideways glance. "Well… he likes humans, that I know. I just meant, he was only ever with the demon girls, half-breeds mostly. Although, I imagine his little problem kept him from getting his money's worth."

"He has a problem, um...rising to the occasion?" Angel asks, not expecting to learn this much about Doyle's sex life and not really wanting to.

"I think he rises just fine... it's the passing out cold that's the problem."

That turns Angel's head. It's beginning to sound like Doyle isn't nearly as cured as he's led Angel to believe. "When he touches someone."

"Yeah, exactly." She agrees. "I found out the hard way. Gave him a little kiss hoping to _inspire_ him to give a human girl a whirl." She pouts a little. "He dropped like a sack o' potatoes. After that, we had an agreement—he'd occasionally pay me for my company, as long as I was careful never to touch him."

Angel drops his head into his hands, feeling worse than ever. Whatever had happened at Cordelia's apartment, it hadn't cured Doyle. And now, instead of taking advantage of Cordelia's healing properties, Doyle was willingly walking around in constant agony and letting everyone believe otherwise. Again.

Worst of all, Angel had pretty much accused him of doing the exact opposite.

"He spent all his money and stayed until his tab hit its limit." Madelaine's voice brings him back to the present. "If I had it my way, he wouldn't have had to pay at all. I like him, y'know? I wanted to help him out."

That reminds Angel what she had said when she first showed up. "Did you find a way to help him, Madelaine?"

"Maddy, please. And yeah, I did. That's why I came here in the first place." She says, perking up. "I gave Doyle the name of one of my other clients. He's a big-shot lawyer and his firm can do just about anything—way more than just legal stuff."

Angel nods grimly at her response, not having to guess which firm she was referring to. He knows that isn't an option, and he is certain Doyle knows that as well. He stands up from the bench and smiles down at her thankfully. "It's been nice talking to you." He says.

"You too, Angel." She replies. She looks up at him, batting her lashes. "I usually have a no vampire policy, but for you, I'd probably make an exception."

Angel chuckles at her come on. "Doyle told you a lot about me… but he left out one very important detail." He walks toward the exit, tossing his final words over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Maddy."


	17. Chapter 17: Dead Leaves

***** CHAPTER 17 *****

Angel places a sleeping Connor in the bassinet in Wesley's office and joins Cordelia at the front counter. She is filing again. She hasn't stopped filing in days—a sure sign that she isn't doing as well on the inside as she appears to be on the outside. He had considered telling her the things he'd learned from Madelaine the night before, but thought it only fair that he go to Doyle first. If Doyle was willing to let them all think the worst about him, then he must have a serious reason for doing so.

As Cordelia drops a stack of papers to the ground, the elevator doors open and Madelaine appears. She once again is donning the skimpy dress she'd been wearing the previous morning. She is all smiles as she struts across the lobby toward Angel. However, she stumbles a bit as Cordelia's head pops into view, having collected her paperwork.

The two women's faces drop simultaneously, mirroring one another. Madelaine barely misses a beat, continuing her journey toward the counter where she addresses Angel, and only Angel. "I'm headed out now." She says. "But I wanted to say goodbye and thank ya for your hospitality."

Angel's eyes flick nervously in Cordelia's direction. Her visage is as icy as ever, although she makes no comment. "Uh… you're welcome. Anytime."

"I hope ya mean that." She says with a flirtatious wink. "I was serious about my offer."

She gives him a genuine smile and Cordelia an uncertain one, and then turns to leave. As she gets to the front doors she turns back. Angel can't be certain which one of them she's addressing, since her eyes seem to include them both. "Don't be so hard on him, yeah? They don't make too many like that."

With that, she exits into the morning sunshine, leaving a cloud of gloom in her wake.

Cordelia doesn't look at Angel as she shuffles the stack of papers in front of her. "So glad you made Doyle's rent-a-date feel so welcome here. Wouldn't want her avoiding the place, would we?"

Angel stares down at the top of her head, again contemplating the information she doesn't know, but certainly should. "It's not what you think, Cordelia."

She scoffs at that, still not turning to face him. "Trust me, Angel. You don't want to know what I think. Not this time." With that, she picks up a new pile of paperwork and escapes into the back office.

He stands alone at the counter with a heavy heart. He wants to take away her sadness, but he knows he is powerless to do so. Doyle is the only person who can make things right for her by making things right _with her_.

But first, Angel has to make things right with him.

* * *

Angel knocks and waits, relieved when the door swings open. He hadn't been entirely certain Doyle would want to speak with him, however, he can tell by the other man's face that he is in need of a friend right now.

"Can I come in?" Angel asks.

"You own the place." Doyle replies. "Don't think ya need an invitation."

"It's still polite to ask." Angel responds.

Doyle steps out of the way, making it clear that Angel is welcome inside. Angel walks deep into the room, taking in the generic décor. Doyle had done nothing to make the place his own. It says a lot about his place in their lives—it all feels temporary.

Angel turns to his friend, hoping Doyle can see how true his next words are. "I'm sorry for what I said to you the other night. I know you'd never hurt Cordelia… or anyone else for that matter. You know that, right?"

Doyle's body language indicates that he's still defensive about the issue, but he nods in acceptance of Angel's apology. "I don't blame ya, man. Under the circumstances."

"If you had left I would've never forgiven myself." Angel says honestly.

Doyle shoves his hands into his pockets, looking uncomfortable with Angel's admission. "Yeah, well, I decided the good fight should take priority over personal issues. I'll be stickin' around… although, I'm thinkin' about getting my own place."

Angel steps closer to his friend, segueing into the other matter at hand. "Speaking of personal issues…" He levels Doyle with an intense look, willing him to open up. "I think there's something you need to tell me."

Doyle's brows come together with bemused curiosity. "Ah… is this about Maddy? Because I know it may have seemed a tad inappropriate, having her here…"

"This is about you." Angel interrupts, reaching out and placing his hand on Doyle's shoulder. Doyle, taken unaware, gasps in pain. Angel doesn't let go until Doyle collapses to the floor from the sustained contact. He tries to catch his breath, and finally gives up, lying flat on his back, panting like a dog.

"That…" _gasp_. "…wasn't…" _gasp_. "…very…" _gasp_. "…nice."

Angel stands over him, face etched with disappointment and concern. "Why did you lie about being cured?"

Doyle shuts his eyes, perhaps believing if he can shut Angel's face out, then he can avoid his questions. But, that isn't going to happen. Finally, Doyle rasps out a comeback, "You assumed. I just didn't bother correcting ya."

"You can understand why I'd think that. You had women all over you, Doyle. Women from the brothel, I presume. But, why would you do that if all it brought you was _this_?" He gestures to Doyle's collapsed form on the ground.

Doyle reopens his eyes, the green orbs shining with an involuntary film of tears. "Because I thought I could fight it!" He replies, regaining his voice. "Thought I was strong enough to get by in my demon form at least. But… it was impossible. I passed out from the pain every single time. Demon or not."

Angel shakes his puzzled head. "Why even try?! You had Cordelia. If all you wanted was self-gratification…"

Doyle sits up abruptly, pointing an angry finger at Angel. "Don't say that! That's not what it was about with her. There's no comparison!"

Angel backs off. "I know." He sighs heavily, lowering his voice and trying again. "But why then? Why hurt yourself? Why hurt her?"

Doyle simmers, still seated on the floor. He raises accusatory eyes at Angel. "I have a question for ya." His words come like a bullet being fired. "Why are ya fightin' so hard for my happy ending with Cordelia, when you're in love with her yourself?"

Angel remains motionless, unwilling to confirm, unable to deny. Despite Angel's best efforts, Doyle clearly reads something in his countenance. "That's what I thought." Doyle says, finally pulling himself up off the floor and getting closer to Angel's eye level. "I wasn't sure at first, but…there it is." Doyle shakes his head in amazement. "Whatya waiting for, man? I dropped the ball. Now's your chance to step in and sweep her off her feet."

Angel's jaw tightens almost imperceptivity, his voice low. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it though?" Doyle replies, needling Angel as he's never done before. "How long ya been pining over her? Did you ever even try to tell her?"

"That's funny coming from you." Angel remarks.

"Well, now's your shot. She wants herself a hero, yeah? There's no one more heroic than you. I'm just a cheap knock off."

"It's not about her wanting a hero, Doyle." Angel replies, agitation creeping into his voice. "She wants _you_."

Doyle visibly reacts to Angel's words, the wind going out of his sails. He takes a step back as Angel continues, making sure his point is crystal clear. "She loves you. There are no substitutions for that." Angel meets Doyle's eyes dead on, adding the final punctuation. "I saw the two of you together. I know the feelings go both ways. What I can't understand is why you're ruining it?"

Doyle licks his dry lips nervously, turning his back and pacing toward the bed. He sits heavily on the edge of it, raising a hand to hold up his heavy head. "I have ruined it, yeah? And it's killin' me, man—the pushing her away, knowing she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you." Angel interjects quietly. "It'd be easier for her if she could."

Doyle runs his hand anxiously through his hair and then lifts his eyes back in Angel's direction. "I had to do it. She's in danger... And _I'm_ the danger in question."

Angel takes that in. For the first time, all of Doyle's erratic actions appear to make sense. But, now Angel's worst fears about his friend's mysterious return are coming to the surface. "That's why you wanted to leave."

Doyle swallows hard. "Yeah. I thought it'd be the safest option, but Wesley told me otherwise."

"You talked to Wes about this before coming to me?" Angel can't help but feel a little slighted by that.

"You and I weren't exactly on speaking terms at the time." Doyle says regretfully. "I thought I should talk to _someone_ before disappearin' for good."

"I'm glad you did." Angel agrees, making a mental note to buy Wes a fruit basket or something.

"He didn't have any real answers for me, but he gave me a reason to stay. It just wasn't the one I was hopin' for." Doyle admits.

"I don't want you to go." Angel says adamantly. "I want to help you fix whatever's wrong. But, in order to do that, I need you to tell me everything. Starting with why you think Cordelia's in danger."

"I do need your help, man." Doyle concedes, looking up at Angel, his exhausted eyes showing signs of hopefulness.

Angel walks over to Doyle, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. "You want to know why I'd fight so hard for you to be with her?" He says sincerely. "Because you matter to me just as much as she does."

Doyle looks genuinely touched, but then a mischievous smile breaks out across his face. "Geez, man. I think ya might've been whammied by that talking stick again."

Angel rolls his eyes. "Don't ruin it, Doyle."

"Ruin what?" Doyle jokes. "I think it's nice. As long as you're not about to tell me you're in love with me, because y'know, I only said I was a _little_ attracted. And that could get rather awkward between you and me and Cordy. Would that even be considered a love triangle or is it something a bit more twisted?"

"Nevermind. I take it back. You're on your own." Angel sighs, but laughs along gladly, if for no other reason than to have his best friend back.


	18. Chapter 18: Scorched Earth

***** CHAPTER 18 *****

Earthquake. Fire. Blood.

 _Betrayal._

* * *

Connor is gone. Wesley is dead to them. Angel is on the warpath.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

Doyle doesn't know how it happened. Right in front of him. Right under all their noses. A trusted ally aided the enemy. The enemy appears to be winning.

And Wesley? He now lay in a hospital bed with his throat slit.

 _That could have been me_ , Doyle thinks. Had his actions put Cordelia in harm's way. Had they resulted in her death. He would have been on the other end of Angel's wrath. And he would have welcomed it.

They all mourn for the innocent baby sent to a hell dimension. They all mourn for a lost friend, who has done far worse than simply died.

Doyle's own pain is now a dull whisper in comparison to the pain he feels for those around him.

* * *

Doyle stops at a window overlooking the back courtyard. Although it's dim, he can see the two figures entwined on one of the stone benches. Cordelia and Angel. The two had been nearly inseparable since Connor's abduction. Especially now that Angel's anger had given way to the depression phase of his grief.

Doyle stood by Angel during the rage, quietly accepting the very questionable actions of his friend. He didn't necessarily _approve_ , but he couldn't blame Angel for going to any lengths necessary. So, he'd let it all happen without argument. Cordelia, Fred and Gunn felt otherwise, which only widened the chasm between Doyle and Cordelia. But worst of all was when Doyle had stood silently by as Angel nearly smothered the life out of Wesley. He couldn't have stepped in even if he had wanted to- at least, that's what he'd told himself. Thankfully, the others did what he could not; they prevented Angel from getting more blood on his hands.

Once the anger receded and all that was left was sadness, Doyle had considerably less to offer. That is where Cordelia had taken over, sitting with Angel in his dark room. Often holding him, as she was now; sometimes she'd just sit nearby with a book, letting him know she was there when and if he needed her. Doyle liked seeing her like this, so caring, so compassionate, so devoted... but every bit of it was directed at Angel. Despite the fact that Doyle had told Angel to sweep her off her feet; despite the fact that the closeness he is currently witnessing is not romantic in nature... Doyle has no trouble admitting to himself that he is jealous. Because, while he'd suspected and confirmed that Angel loved her, he hadn't realized the extent that she loved him back. Sure, he'd already figured out they'd gotten closer in the two years since Doyle had been gone. He'd watched Cordelia care for little Connor, seen she and Angel confide and depend on each other. They had long since stopped being friends and had become a whole lot more…

Ironically, Doyle's death had probably brought them closer than they would have been otherwise. And Doyle's visions that had bonded them for life.

"They're still out there, huh?"

Fred's voice startles Doyle. He has been unusually attuned to his surroundings since his return, probably a result of his heightened sensitivity in general. But somehow the petite brunette had managed to sneak up on him. She now stands beside him at the window, taking in the same view that had started his wheels spinning.

"Yeah." He replies, stating the obvious. "Hope they remember to come in before sunrise or we'll have quite a mess to sweep up."

Fred looks up at him, apparently sensing something in his voice that he hadn't intended to reveal. "Are you still not speaking? You and Cordy, I mean? I know Angel's not really talking to anyone." Her eyes drill into him questioningly. "Y'all should just bury the hatchet. With everything that's happened..." She sighs sadly, probably thinking of Wesley. "We all need each other right now."

Doyle tries to keep his expression as neutral as possible, but Fred's words cut deeper than she knows. "The hatchet's buried on my end, love. If she needs me, she knows where to find me."

Fred doesn't look entirely convinced as she turns back to the tableau of Cordelia and Angel. "Well, it wouldn't kill you to apologize." She mutters under her breath.

"I'll take that under advisement." Doyle responds with contrition. He redirects her focus to the couple seated in the darkness. "She and Angel, that's what matters right now. They need each other." He says. "Cordy loved that kid as if it were her own."

"That's true." Fred agrees wistfully. "Cordelia was the closest thing Connor ever had to a mother."

"She made a damn good one." Doyle adds, silently wishing he had never made her think he wouldn't want her as the mother of his children, should he ever have any. If she only knew how many times he'd imagined exactly that. Demon DNA or no demon DNA.

"Angel did a great job, too. Connor is… _was_ a lucky baby. The three of them seemed..."

Fred trails off and Doyle realizes she is censoring herself on his account. While he appreciates her consideration, he also would prefer to know her unbiased observations. She had been there for a while before Doyle's return. She could fill in some of the blank spaces. "It's okay, Fred, you can say it." He encourages. "They seemed like a family, yeah?"

"They were." Fred admits.

"Did I get in the way of that?" He asks, focusing on the shifting silhouettes in the garden below. Their hands are now clasped together, foreheads touching. He imagines that they are speaking quietly to each other.

"Oh no!" Fred replies with fervor. "You could never be in the way. I can't tell you how badly they wanted you back. Both of them. It was hard to tell which one of them wanted it more, to be honest."

Doyle chuckles at her passionate attempt to avoid hurting his feelings. Again, her consideration is touching. "Of that, I have no doubt." He assures her. "What I'm askin' is... do ya think they'd be together now if I hadn't come back?"

"I don't know." Fred says honestly. "I had thought they would end up together for a while, and there was this night at the ballet… well, it was sorta magical all around." A smile spreads across her face, which Doyle translates as having something to do with that boyfriend of hers. "Anyway, it seemed like they were… like something might've happened between them."

"Oh." Doyle should have known to be careful what he asked. Sometimes you get way more than you bargained for. And some of the blank spaces were better off staying blank.

"But, then Groo showed up and Cordelia was kinda swept away in the moment."

At least that was something. The Groosalugg had been an interloper before Doyle came along to interfere. "The guy _was_ an undefeated champion." Doyle reminds her. "Who could blame her?"

"But that didn't last very long." Fred continues, flashing her brown eyes up at Doyle with a mixture of sympathy and wonder. "He had barely arrived when Cordy saw you in her vision. And once that happened, it was pretty obvious that no one else stood a chance..."

"It was that obvious, huh?" Doyle asks, not sure how he could be surprised to hear that, but surprised all the same.

"There are billboards on Hollywood Boulevard that are less obvious." She assures him. She appears to search his face, probably looking for an answer as to why it all went wrong.

"Maybe if I leave, they'd figure it all out, yeah? Things might end up the way they're supposed to." Doyle wonders. It had been Wesley who'd convinced him to stick around, and judging by the man's recent actions, he was hardly the voice of reason.

"Are you crazy?!" She cries out, panic edging into her voice. "You can't leave! Like it or not, you're a part of this family. We can't lose you. Not after we've lost so much already." Her mouth turns downwards in a trembling pout as she speaks of what they've lost. Doyle knows she was close to Wesley, and is having a hard time dealing with the fallout of his actions. She continues earnestly, gesturing out the window. "If you're so worried about them having what they need, then why can't you see how badly they need you? Now more than ever."

Doyle drops his head, staring at the carpet below his feet. Her words cutting deep once again. Since his return, he's been so consumed by his own pain that he hasn't done anything to prove himself a good friend. To the naked eye, all he's done is prove the opposite. Cordelia and Angel had the benefit of knowing him before, but the others didn't. They were going on faith. "I'm not sucha bad guy." He says. "I promise. Despite what you've seen..."

Fred gives him a partial smile. "I know you're a good person, Doyle. Cordy and Angel could never love you as much as they do otherwise."

"Thanks, Fred." He says, his voice heavy with emotion.

They both turn back to the window as Cordelia and Angel stand up and exit from view. Fred gives one more glimpse in Doyle's direction. "Y'know, Doyle, I do think things will end up the way they're supposed to." As he turns to face her, he sees the sincerity of her words. "I'm just not sure you're right about what that is."

* * *

Doyle sits alone in the Hyperion lobby- a very unusual occurrence for him. Lorne had fled the premises following Angel's dark turn, Fred and Gunn had gone out for food and Cordelia and Angel were holed up in the burnt out shell of Angel's apartment upstairs. That left only Doyle, sitting on the circular sofa, paying absolutely no attention to the open newspaper in his lap.

His mind is too busy wandering, playing tricks on him. Ever since his conversation with Fred, he'd started to wonder about things that had happened when he was dead. Wondering how much Fred didn't even know. Doyle couldn't shake the feeling that he'd gotten in the middle of something he shouldn't have—he is supposed to be dead after all, they were _supposed_ to move on. And, in a way, it is the best case scenario that the two people he cares most about in the world, should gravitate to each other in his absence.

The problem is he's no longer absent. And while he understands why he can't just up and leave, he really _really_ wants to. Because along with the revelation that he is a threat to Cordelia's safety, came an even more critical epiphany—that he is not a gift from the forces of good and, therefore, probably shouldn't have been brought back at all.

He hears footsteps on the staircase behind him, and twists his body around to see a very exhausted Cordelia clomping down them. She is looking at the ground as she walks, and only when she gets to the bottom does she look up to see who else is present. Her eyes land on Doyle and she subtly rolls her eyes, immediately turning her back on him and walking toward the back offices. Her utter disregard is, perhaps, the most painful thing he's experienced in the sea of pain he's been drowning in.

She disappears into the back, but reappears soon after, not having found whatever it is she seeks. Doyle tries to keep up the appearance of reading his paper, but he'd rather try and mend their bridge. Not all the way, just enough so that they can work together. Be in the same room again. She pauses, clearly frustrated by a lack of _something_ or other, and then finally trudges dejectedly back to the stairs. She begins to climb, when he makes the decision to speak. "Is there somethin' I can do for ya, Prince-…uh…Cordelia?"

He twists around to look at her again, and sees that she has paused mid-step, but hasn't turned around. With her back still turned she begins to nod, finally whirling around and heading back down the few steps she'd climbed. "Actually… yeah. There is." She says, circling the sofa to stand before him. He sits waiting for her request, brows knitted in concern.

She stops in front of him and points a finger up the stairs. "You're up." She says simply.

"Uh… whatya mean?" He asks dumbly.

"It's your turn to go sit with Angel." She explains as if he is a small child, possibly with a learning disability. "I'm starving and I'm exhausted and I need a shower. So, man up, walk on upstairs, and be there for your friend."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out again, rolling up his paper and tossing it aside. "You're talkin' to me again." He hesitantly grins up at her.

She has no patience for his attempt to be cute with her. "I was never _not_ speaking to you." She clarifies. "I just have nothing to say to you anymore." Her body language echoes her words; she is done. "You're not here for me, you're never going to be here for me. And, frankly, I don't want you here for me. That ship sailed even before your little hooker friend came to visit." Doyle flinches at that, but Cordelia doesn't even take a breath. "But, it's not too late for you to do right by Angel. Think you can manage?"

"Yeah… okay." He agrees, the weight of her words making it hard for him to stand up off the sofa. "I can do that."

"So, you are still capable of being a decent half-human being? It's been so long, I'd almost forgotten." She replies coolly.

He turns away from her gaze, which is liable to freeze him where he stands. Pointing toward the stairs, he starts to move toward them as he speaks. "I'll just be going to sit with Angel then."

As he heads up the stairs, he cheats one final look back down at her. The icy veneer has melted away and she looks every bit as in need of a friend as Angel does. He wants to tell her that he is here for her as well, but sending her mixed messages would probably only do more harm. He had finally succeeded in pushing her away and now he has to deal with the fallout. Instead of running back down to her, he turns his back and takes the stairs as fast as his legs will carry him.

* * *

Doyle enters the burnt out remains of Angel's room. The smell of charred wood still lingers in the air, and Connor's empty crib sits at the center. Angel lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. Doyle isn't even certain Angel knows he entered, until he speaks. "Where's Cordelia?"

"She…uh…" Doyle crosses the room toward the seat he knows she usually occupies. "I thought I might come chat with ya for a bit. Give her a chance to stretch her limbs and grab a bite."

Angel keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling. "I don't wanna chat."

"Well, maybe I can chat and you can listen?" Doyle says, sitting down despite Angel's apparent objections.

Angel says nothing, does nothing. His sadness, however, screams louder than words possibly could.

Doyle sits back in the chair, flexing his legs out in front of him. He glances over at the empty crib and realizes there isn't a whole lot he _can_ say. Words are pretty much meaningless in this scenario. "Or maybe I can just sit here for a while."

Time passes and the silence remains untouched. Doyle considers picking up the book Cordelia had left there, although he's not sure it matches up to his literary tastes exactly. Still, it'd be something to help him escape his own thoughts, which were none too pleasant.

"You need to promise me something, Doyle." Angel's voice causes Doyle to start, but he leans forward eagerly, relieved by the dent in the wall of silence.

"Anything, man." Doyle replies.

"Promise me I won't regret asking you to stay here." Angel doesn't turn his head, doesn't make eye contact, but the impact of his plea is not lessened. "Promise me I won't lose anyone else."

Doyle's heart leaps to his throat at very thought of breaking a promise like that.

"I promise."

* * *

 **A/N - I hope you guys can forgive me for the rapid change in tone with this chapter. Hopefully, the clues were apparent all along that Wesley was going to hand Connor over to Holtz, just as he did in the actual show. The fallout of that event is relevant to the story I want to tell, but the event itself is not. The important thing is the emotional shift for each of the characters... Thanks for reading. :)**


	19. Chapter 19: Chrysalis

***** CHAPTER 19 *****

Doyle sits alone in his room, listening to the quiet that only the night can bring. He had done it for so long in Angel's presence, that he thought he might try it for himself. Granted, he tries it with an open bottle of whiskey in hand. As he takes a swig from the bottle, he is surprised to hear a soft knock at his door.

Even more surprising is what he finds when he opens it.

"Cordelia?"

She stands in the open doorway, traces of previously shed tears grace her cheekbones along with the redness rimming her eyes. She looks even more exhausted than she had the previous afternoon. She stares vacantly somewhere into the middle of his chest as she speaks, "He had a future… and now it's gone." Her voice is so sad and broken, it barely resembles her voice at all.

Doyle shifts uncomfortably, adding his own subtext to her statement. He is overcome with the desire to pull her into his arms. "Connor." He says simply.

"Angel." She replies, turning her sorrowful eyes up to meet his. "Connor was his future."

Doyle nods silently from the opposite side of the doorway, but says nothing. She continues, "How could Wesley do it?" There isn't a hint of anger in the words; she is far too defeated for anger… which Doyle suspects, is one of the reasons she is now occupying his doorstep.

She looks at him expectantly. She is waiting for him to hold her or invite her inside or do anything other than his current nothingness. And he would like to do any one of those things, but instead, he needs to send her somewhere else. "You should go back to Angel." He says firmly, but not unkindly.

"He isn't here." She replies hoarsely.

That is a surprise. "He went out?" Doyle asks incredulously. "Where'd he go?"

She gives a sad little shrug, and takes a step forward so that her toes are right at the border of the doorway. He wouldn't be able to shut her out unless she steps back, and he can see right away, that's not likely to happen. "It doesn't matter." She says heavily. "I've been strong for his sake, but… _it hurts_." Her eyes are pleading, and if he has any residual doubt about what she wants from him, she spells it out. "I need you right now, okay? I know things are bad between us. I know we're not even friends at this point, but I don't care _._ Just fake it if you have to?"

He senses the disaster waiting to happen, but as he sees the tears gathering in her eyes, he stops fighting his instincts. "God, Cordy." He reaches out and pulls her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly. "You have me. I'm here."

As he stands in the doorway holding her, stroking her hair, he enjoys the feel of the pain flushing out of his body. It had been ages since he'd had any sense of relief. In fact, he had wondered if he hadn't made the pain permanently worse with all his attempts to fight it. Now, he didn't have to wonder, because it is gone…. Only to be replaced with the pain he feels emanating from her.

He had felt the weight of her body as she collapsed against him; his shoulder rapidly becoming soaked through with her tears. This isn't a side of Cordelia he's ever seen before. This is her allowing herself to be vulnerable. Somehow, despite everything, she still trusts him. It makes him feel far worse for having broken her heart the way that he did.

"We'll always be friends." He whispers into her hair. It's the one true thing he can say.

He holds her as tightly as he can without cutting off her air supply, and plants a comforting kiss on her forehead. He feels her swallow heavily within his arms, and then pull back to wipe her tear-stained cheeks with one hand. Her other hand still clings to his shirt, and he makes no movement to let her go, although he senses that this would be the smart moment to do so.

He sensed correctly.

While he thinks she is moving back to rest her head against his shoulder, she instead raises her head and captures his lips with her own, kissing him softly but urgently. The feel of her lips takes him momentarily by surprise, and it is instinctual that he kisses her back, tasting the salt that had settled there. It only takes him another moment to catch himself, but he had already failed her, and Angel, miserably. He pulls back, lifting his hands up to her cheeks so he can hold her there and ensure she meets his eyes. "I'll comfort ya, love. But not like that." He says gently.

"Why not?" She asks in a whisper.

He doesn't respond with words, but he hopes she can see the answer in his eyes, which are still squarely focused on her own. Maybe she does see, maybe she doesn't. Either way, the girl had always been stubborn. "I'm not asking you for anything you didn't do the other night with your other _friend_." Her voice catches on the word friend, her eyes are pools of melancholy. "I'm not asking you to love me."

If only she knew, she'd never have to ask him to love her. He did that just fine on his own. Not to mention, all he'd done with Maddy was share a bottle of cheap whiskey and play cards. Somehow, he didn't think Cordelia would be interested in doing the same.

"You want a distraction, yeah?" He asks, stroking her cheeks lightly with his thumbs. "From the pain of it all?"

She nods almost imperceptibly.

"I don't recommend it." He replies sincerely. "But, I will be here for ya through it."

He releases her face, and instead takes her hand gently pulling her over the threshold and closing the door securely behind her. He says nothing as he continues to lead her across the room and over to the bed. She looks up at him, a puzzled expression on her face.

"I figure this is a little more comfortable than your couch." He says, answering her unspoken question. She gets it and he sees the gratefulness fill her eyes. She crawls onto the bed lying on her side, and he lies down facing her, opening his arms so she can rest her head in the crook of his shoulder.

She buries her face in the front of his shirt, but she is done crying for now. It doesn't take long before she's sleeping soundly in his arms.

* * *

Doyle pads through the empty lobby, exiting to the courtyard, pack of cigarettes in hand. His hair stands up on end, disheveled from sleep- not that he had been sleeping. It's not so much that he needs the smoke, as he needs to clear his head. It's entirely full of _her_.

Upstairs, lying snugly in his bed, sound asleep, is a woman he finds intoxicating. She had looked so peaceful there in his arms, and she had unknowingly brought him so much solace. It had been hard to pry himself away, and yet, he knew he had to. He needed air. He needed distance. He wouldn't say he welcomed the pain, but it reminded him why he couldn't let himself get too comfortable. This arrangement is a one-time deal. Being close to her for too long is not only dangerous for her, but also for him. And while he isn't afraid of death, he doesn't relish the thought of it coming at Angel's hands.

He lights a cigarette and inhales deeply, standing in the center of the courtyard, by the fountain. He looks up at the dark windows overhead, feeling a pair of eyes on him. He knows the eyes are not from above, but much, much closer.

"How are ya, man?" He asks the shadows.

"Not well." Angel's voice precedes his reveal as he steps out of a dark corner. Doyle can sense the simmering rage that radiates from him, and knows that Angel's heightened senses have probably led him to a rather false conclusion. He can smell Cordelia all over Doyle. And he isn't pleased. "I will dismantle you, limb from limb if you did anything to hurt her." The threat is delivered low and calm, which makes it all the more terrifying.

Doyle has the good sense not to take offense. For one thing, Angel had been through a lot. For another, he is not unjustified in his concerns. "I believe ya." Doyle replies. "Nothing happened. I would never hurt her... I just couldn't turn her away, man. Not when she needed me most."

Angel stares daggers, but Doyle steps forward bravely. "She needed a shoulder and that's what I gave her. That's it. I swear."

"I've had enough, Doyle." Angel says dangerously. "Enough secrets and lies and prophecies and betrayals. You are playing with fire."

Doyle opens his mouth to insist otherwise, but Angel moves inhumanly fast, getting in Doyle's face and hovering there threateningly. His words are deadly serious. "If you can't stay away from her, then _you need to leave_." The two men stand there, eyes locked. "If you don't, I can't guarantee you won't end up like Wesley."

Angel's final threat reverberates through Doyle's bones. Because he knows it's true. He'd already thought of it himself.

They both know she's there, but Doyle isn't entirely sure when she got there. He had been a little too distracted by the threat of certain death issued from the lips of his best friend. Angel backs away, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Doyle until finally turning to exit through the doorway she stands in. He says nothing as he brushes by her, disappearing into the darkness of the lobby inside.

Doyle stands in place, his unsmoked cigarette still smoldering, forgotten in his hand. Cordelia steps into the courtyard to join him, her hair mussed from sleep. As she gets closer, he can see her eyes are filled with worried curiosity. He says nothing, waiting for the deluge of questions that are sure to follow.

"Why would Angel threaten you like that?" She asks shaking her head in disbelief.

He gives her a look, telling her she knows exactly why. "You want someone to love ya the right way, darlin'? The way ya deserve? You don't need to go lookin' outside the hotel." He taps the ultra-long log of ash from his cigarette, left with next to nothing. He uses it to gesture to the door Angel had previously exited. "He'd protect you from everything and anything. Even from his best friend. Because he loves ya, Cordy. Selflessly and undeniably."

"I know." She replies quietly, not looking surprised by that revelation. "And I love him, too."

Doyle takes the hit of that admission as stoically as possible. "Well, there ya go." He nods and looks down to where he had dropped his cigarette butt, stomping it out with his toe.

"But it's not the same way that I love you." She says.

It isn't quite as easy for him to mask his reaction to that. As badly as he had wanted to hear those words from her, now all he can do is cringe. "Please, don't say that."

She steps closer to him, her eyes full of emotion. It is impossible for him to look away once she has him in her gaze. He feels his heart pound with every word she says. "What, that I love you? I do, Doyle. Even after everything you've done to try and make me feel otherwise." She continues to move closer to him as she speaks, and he feels like he is caught in a tractor beam, incapable of moving away. "I'm in love with you and I can't make myself not be. As long as you're here, I can't even think about being in love with anyone else."

 _What if I'm not here_? He thinks it, but he can't bring himself to say it out loud.

She moves closer still, and rests one of her hands against his chest. As the relief floods through his body, he knows he is done. He is completely incapable of pushing her away. Not this time. Not after what she just said to him. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her light touch. He has no doubt that she can feel the rapid thumping of his heart beneath her fingertips.

As he reopens his eyes and looks down at her, all he sees is love and acceptance. "Why would Angel need to protect me from you?"

He sighs heavily, his voice full of fear and regret. "There's something wrong with me, Cordelia."

Her face is a mask of concern, as the weight of her hand over his heart becomes heavier. "I know."

"I... have a lot to tell ya." He chokes out, not sure where to start.

She nods in agreement and then completely shocks him. "You are going to tell me everything. _Tomorrow_." She declares. "Tonight, we're going upstairs and going back to sleep."

He squints down at her, wondering if he had heard her correctly. "How could ya possibly wanna go back upstairs with me after what ya just heard?"

She slides her hand from his chest down to his hand, and clasps it tightly. "I already told you why." She raises her head, giving him a small, but confident smile. "And I know for a fact, that Angel isn't the only person around here who would protect me."

As she leads him back upstairs, he can see some of the weight has been lifted from her shoulders. He now carries it himself, hoping against all hope that he won't fail her.


	20. Chapter 20: Translucent

***** CHAPTER 20 *****

Doyle steps out of the shower and towels himself off, causing his wet hair to stand straight up in spikes.

In the other room, he had left Cordelia sleeping soundly. Clearly, she'd had no concerns for her safety, having returned to his room and fallen asleep almost immediately. He had tossed a bit, worried enough for the both of them. But, miraculously, sleep had eventually taken ahold of him as well. Now a new day had dawned, and he knew that it was going to be a critical one in the story of his life, especially as it pertained to her. There was no more hiding from the truth; no more pretending. Today he'd tell her everything, for better or for worse.

He was terrified, to say the least.

He wraps a towel around his waist and steps back into the bedroom to find that Cordelia is no longer sleeping. Instead, she is alertly sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, waiting for him. She rakes her eyes over his bare chest as he makes his way across the room, trailing droplets of water across the carpet. Her expression is nearly unreadable, and considering everything that had happened the night before, he couldn't be sure what to expect next.

"You have tattoos." She says, referring to the Irish symbols on each of his shoulders.

"Ah…yeah." He replies, not sure where she's going with this. "You didn't see 'em the other night?"

"I didn't get that good of a look." She says, arching a brow. "Guess I was distracted."

Her intense gaze is making him feel rather self-conscious. He wants to cross to the dresser and grab some clothes, but for now he stands paralyzed at the foot of the bed, waiting to see which way the wind will blow.

"There's a lot I still need to learn about you." She continues calmly. "Isn't that right?"

"That's right." He replies cautiously. "Assuming ya still wanna learn."

She nods at that, looking down at the hands she has folded in her lap. "That's a good question."

She rolls forward and crawls forward off the bed, standing before him at the foot. He reflexively grasps onto his towel. Not that he expects her to rip it off of him, but having her close makes him feel like he's at a distinct disadvantage. Exposed. He is suddenly very conscious of every single drop of water clinging to his skin.

"I know you have a lot to tell me." She says, shoving her hands in her back pockets, and thereby making him feel a little more comfortable with having her so close to his half-naked body. "Not to mention the fact that you owe me a _major_ apology." She levels him with a warning look, letting him know he is by no means off the hook. "But, first I need you to answer one very simple question. Because the answer will tell me if I even want to know the rest."

He feels his pulse quicken, unsure what question could possibly make or break everything else. He keeps his eyes locked to hers, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"Are you the same man I knew before?" She asks unflinchingly. "The man who convinced Angel to start fighting the good fight, the man who fought beside him, the man who used his last breath to make sure he'd keep fighting?"

A wave of relief washes over him, because that it is a simple question with a simple answer. "I am, Princess."

Her small smile grows, and he can see that this was the answer she had wanted to hear. "Good." She says.

"You liked that guy, huh?" Doyle asks, a grin spreading across his face. "He really grew on ya?"

"Like a fungus." She deadpans.

"I knew I was wearing ya down with my ample but unpretentious charms." He gives her a wink.

She laughs with him, which helps to ease the tension, but her smile soon fades and her voice takes a more sober tone. "You know, you were right about Harry telling me all about the man you used to be. And at the time, I had trouble believing _her_ Doyle was the same as the man I knew. But, now I can see, everything she said was right. And it's still right."

Doyle nods along. While he has no doubt that Harry had him pegged, he isn't entirely sure where Cordelia's going with this. "Hope she told ya good things."

"She did." Cordelia replies. "But she also told me your biggest flaw."

He wrinkles his brow at that. "Y'know, it's not fair to be taking the word of a guy's ex when he's not there to defend himself."

"You decide what other people need without even consulting them." Cordelia says flatly. "You did it to her and now you're doing it to me. All this time, you've been pushing me away because you thought that was what was best for me, but you never even considered what I actually needed-which in this case, was _you_."

Doyle holds out a hand to try and shush her. "You don't even know the whole story, Cordy. I had good reason to…"

"I don't care what the reason was!" She shouts, causing him to take a step back. "Nothing you can tell me will change the fact that you should've just been honest with me. There's no excuse for that."

"I'm sorry." He mumbles.

She sighs heavily. "I'm still really angry with you. You should know that."

"I kinda got that." He says, shifting from one foot to the other anxiously. "I'm hoping that eventually you'll be able to forgive me, yeah?"

"I'm hoping for that, too." She says. As he looks into her eyes, he thinks back to the things she'd said to him the night before, finding it remarkable that she was willing to say all that even while harboring this much anger toward him. A far cry from the Cordelia of years past, who was brutally honest about absolutely everything other than her feelings. And yet, it was her honest declaration of love that broke him, which had probably been her strategy in the first place. Assuming she'd had a strategy at that point.

"I'll need Lorne." He says. "There are some things I don't know, and I'm hoping he can help."

"I'll go see if he's back." She says, turning to leave.

"I'll need you there as well… holding my hand." His voice halts her in her tracks. She turns back to him questioningly. "Lorne won't be able to read me otherwise."

He watches as she processes his words; her eyes slowly filling with sadness. "Oh God, Doyle…" She says heartbreakingly.

He waves off her concern and then runs his fingers through his still-damp hair. "Go on, now." He says. "And, do me a favor… bring Angel, too."

* * *

 _"_ _You ask me to enter, but then you make me crawl. And I can't be holding on to what you got, when all you got is hurt… One love… One blood... One life…"_

Cordelia grips Doyle's hand tightly as she watches Lorne's reaction to the singing. While Lorne doesn't lose consciousness or cry out in pain, he does lift his hand to his temple and close his eyes tightly. Even so, it's clear that he lets Doyle go on much longer than necessary, before finally holding up a hand for him to stop.

It doesn't look good. That much is obvious.

At least it sounded good. While Lorne collects himself she turns to Doyle with an appreciative smile. "Bono better watch out." She says. "You might be coming for his job."

Doyle gives her a reserved smile, clearly not in a joking mood. Which means she had probably sit down for whatever is coming next.

Lorne looks up at Doyle, in obvious distress. "I'm gonna need a minute here. Why don't you start telling your tale and I'll fill in the blanks where I can?"

Doyle nods at that and removes his hand from Cordelia's grip. She is reluctant, but he nods his assurance as he steps away from her. She slowly sits beside Lorne on the circular sofa. Angel stands several feet away, leaning against the bottom of the staircase with his arms crossed. The rest of the lobby is empty, Fred and Gunn nowhere to be found, probably out trying to enjoy the one good thing they have while the world falls apart around them—each other.

When Cordelia had asked Angel to come down and join them, he'd come without argument, although she suspected that he already knew most of what Doyle was about to say. That bothered her—that both of them had kept this from her, whatever _this_ was. But, she wasn't about to blame Angel for Doyle's secrets. Angel had said nothing to her about the threats she'd overheard the night before; he'd said nothing to Doyle when he'd appeared in the lobby. He was a silent presence, but his presence was a hopeful sign nonetheless. If he had given up on Doyle, he wouldn't be there at all.

Doyle takes a deep breath and turns to face her. She focuses on his pale green eyes, which shine brilliantly in the well-lit lobby.

"I don't think I was sent here as a gift to ya, Cordelia." He begins. "Fair to say, I'm more of a curse."

His eyes are full of sadness as he says the words, but with that disclaimer out of the way, he continues.

"Ya already know about the pain I've been feeling since I've been back. I had figured something went wrong with my resurrection, or that I was still being punished for my past. When I found out you could take my pain away, I shoulda' known there was something more to it. I guess I just wanted to believe it was a positive thing—that I was yours. And the pain was like an invisible leash."

Cordelia winces at that analogy, as Doyle clarifies. "Not that I needed anything of the sort. I woulda been yours regardless." He says sincerely, pausing a moment to re-gather his thoughts. "I am yours."

"But… it is a leash, isn't it?" She asks, trying to keep her voice steady, but hearing the slight tremor despite her best efforts.

He makes no reply at first and then slowly nods. "That is part of it, yeah."

She swallows hard, certain that she isn't going to like this rest of this tale.

"The night we went back to your apartment… well, ya know how things started." He says, cheating a nervous glance in Angel's direction before turning his eyes back on her. "At some point, some kinda spell took over. Like a… mystical aphrodisiac, I guess ya could call it. Both of us were caught up in it. Powerful thing. Still have the scars on my back to prove it."

She feels her cheeks flush remembering the evidence she'd found under her fingernails the next morning. Suddenly she found her lap incredibly interesting.

"Thankfully." He continues. "The Powers That Be had the good sense to interrupt us by sending a vision."

Her head flies back up to meet his eyes. "I don't remember a vision." She insists.

"No, ya wouldn't." He confirms. "'Cause you were under the influence of a pretty potent spell at the time, and whatever painless vision ya saw got mixed right in with everything else you were feeling at the time." He pauses, putting one hand on his hip and gesturing with his other. "But, the feedback loop that hit me… well, it knocked me clear across the room. And mostly back to my senses, as luck would have it."

He paces back and forth as he continues. "Gave me a pretty terrifying preview of what would happen if I didn't hightail it outta your bedroom at that particular moment. Let's just say, I might not have had the strength to stand, but I still figured out a way to run like hell."

Cordelia absorbs his words, landing on one confusing point of concern. "I don't understand… why would the Powers That Be send me a vision warning me about you, if they're the ones who sent you here in the first place?"

Doyle's expression gives her the answer, even before his lips do. "Think it's safe to say, they aren't one in the same, darlin'."

Her stomach flips over as she realizes the implication of his words—she had started this. She had been fooled into opening a trap and walking right into it. And yet, as she looks at the man standing before her, she knows she'd do it again in a heartbeat, even knowing what she knows now. It was the perfect trap, because it could never fail.

She searches for her voice, but when she finds it, it sounds foreign to her ears. "What did you see?"

Doyle hesitates before answering. "There was a pregnancy… followed by your very gruesome and unnatural death."

Cordelia inhales sharply at his words. Suddenly, Lorne's vision of her possible future, and Doyle's terror at her desire to have that future make sense. And what terrible sense they make. "Oh God." She whispers.

From beside her, Lorne speaks for the first time during Doyle's tale. "I'm so sorry, sweet pea. I didn't see enough to know how bad it was. I would have never gotten your hopes like that if I knew."

Her chest feels tight, as she tries to grasp the meaning behind the vision. Doyle comes closer, crouching before her and placing a comforting hand on her knee. "It wasn't a natural pregnancy, Cordelia. It was something bad. Something inside me, that was meant for you." He looks up at her earnestly. "I didn't know any more than that. But I couldn't risk havin' the spell take over and me not be able to fight it. I had to get as far away from ya as possible."

She grips his hand as it suddenly occurs to her, where he might have gone after he ran away from her. "Doyle?" She asks in a broken whisper. "Did you…" She can't get the words out. "…give it to someone else?"

He sits back on his heels, a grave expression crossing his face. "No." He replies. A wave of relief moves through her body, but it is short-lived as his next words hit her. "But, not for lack of trying."

She winces at that, closing her eyes to shut out his face. She still grips his hand, and she squeezes it hard in disapproval of his words. She keeps her eyes closed, as his words permeate the bubble of darkness she tried to retreat into. "I thought it might want a demon hybrid such as yourself, so I went somewhere I knew there'd be a lot of 'em, ready and willing."

She shakes her head in the negative, wanting him to stop speaking. She can tell by the sound of his voice, that he wishes he could stop speaking as well. "I couldn't…" He clears his throat. "I couldn't even get close to getting rid of it. The pain made sure of that." As she reopens her eyes and begins to breathe again, he finishes his train of thought. "I suspect that was purposeful. Whatever this thing is, there's no question it was meant for you, and only you."

"You shouldn't have…" Her voice is laced with hints of anger even as it breaks, and her eyes blur from the unshed tears that have collected within them.

"I know." Doyle affirms, squeezing her hand back. "Don't think I didn't already come to that conclusion myself. At the time, all I could think of was you. I needed to get rid of it for your sake. I wasn't gonna let the pain stop me. But, then when I realized what I'd be doing if I succeeded…" He shakes his head in frustrated sadness. "…I was glad I wasn't able to do it."

She pulls her hand out of his grip and raises both hands to her face, trying to come to terms with everything he had just told her. Again, his voice breaks through the cocoon she tries to create for herself. "I'm so sorry, Princess. I'm not the gift you thought I was. And I didn't wanna tell ya, because I couldn't bear the thought of seeing this look on your face. Of making you think that you shouldn't have brought me back." His voice breaks a little. "It was worse than the physical pain, Cordy. Knowing ya wanted me and I couldn't be with ya. But it's worse to think ya probably don't want me anymore, after everything you've just heard—as much as I had been trying to make that happen to keep ya safe, I never really wanted it to be true."

She feels him move away from her and all she hears is the sound of breathing. Her own, she surmises. A heavy silence hangs in the air, until she finally drops her hands and looks back up at Doyle, seeing him with clear eyes. He is turned away from her, shoulders heavy with worry and fear and regret and, of course, his trademark self-loathing. It is instinctual that she wants to go to him and take all that away—or, in the very least share it. But, the hole in the pit of her stomach keeps her in place. Instead, she turns her devastated gaze on Lorne, who sits silently beside her with a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Do you know what it is?" She asks.

Lorne lets out a long breath, probably having dreaded this exact question. "Well… I can pretty much confirm everything Doyle's already said. Particularly, the part about what this thing would do if it got its proverbial—and possibly literal- claws into you." He replies sorrowfully. "It appears to be some kind of parasitic organism—more powerful than anything I've ever encountered, that's for sure. Its laced itself into Doyle's DNA and it's waiting to be passed along to the intended host." His eyes drill into Cordelia's. "That would be you, sugarplum."

"Seems like a lot of work just to kill me." Cordelia grumbles, still not quite ready to believe everything she's hearing. "Haven't these people ever heard of poison or, I don't know, bombs?!"

Lorne somehow manages to look even more remorseful than he had previously. "It doesn't just want to kill you. It wants to _live_. But, in order to do that, it needs to be born and well… it's not a birth process that you'd be able to survive."

"Where did it come from? What will it do once it's here?" She asks.

Doyle whirls toward her, voice raised with conviction. "It's never gonna be here. Whatever it is. That part's not ever gonna happen!"

She meets Doyle's gaze and sees that he couldn't be any more desperate to ensure those words are true, which is why he's done everything he's done recently. Lorne answers her question regardless. "It came from the great beyond, I presume. Hitched itself a ride via Doyle. And it has ill intentions for humanity. _Very_ ill intentions."

"Apocalyptic intentions." Doyle adds. "At least, that's what Wesley led me to believe." He had lowered his voice as he'd said the name no one dared speak in Angel's presence. "Can't say for sure if that was accurate, but I'm thinking it probably is."

"How do we get rid of it?" She hears herself ask, her voice ragged with fear. "For good, I mean?"

Doyle and Lorne exchange a loaded glance that causes her stomach to begin digesting itself. Doyle is the one who speaks. "It's in my DNA, Cordelia. Last I checked, they don't make cures for that."

She shakes her head, not accepting that. "No. Doyle, it's supernatural. It's magic. _Something_ can remove it."

"Not anything I'm willing to do." Doyle says sadly but assertively. "Besides… there are other more important things to worry about." Doyle looks over at Angel as he says that. Cordelia had almost forgotten Angel was there; he hadn't said a word. Not until now.

"There's nothing more important." Angel says firmly, returning Doyle's gaze. "This family is all that matters."


	21. Chapter 21: Life Cycle

***** CHAPTER 21 *****

Cordelia finds Doyle alone in the front courtyard, slumped in a corner. His arms lay heavily on his knees and his eyes are focused intently on the ground below. She knows he probably senses her approach, but he makes no movement as she crosses the walkway and stands above his hunched form. "You're missing your usual cloud of smoke." She says.

At her voice, he lifts his head. His eyes are heavy with sadness, reminding her very much of the days following Harry's reintroduction in to his life. Cordelia hadn't thought it possible for him to look more depressed than that, but he is currently managing to make that look like a day at Disneyland. He sniffles a bit, his voice sounding thick and nasal, "Uh... I figured I'd give quitting a try."

"Since when?" She asks in surprise, as she perches herself on the open space next to him on the low wall.

"Right now, I guess." He responds with a weak smile, which can hardly classify as a smile.

His head drops back down. He probably expects her to lay into him. To tell him how poorly he had handled everything. To tell him he isn't the man she thought he was after all. He always did think the worst of himself, she knows. And yet, he usually showed her the best without even realizing he was doing so. This time, he'd simply showed her that he is half-human- and humans make mistakes. She slips her hand into his lap, clasping on to his right hand, which is the closest one within her reach. He raises his head once again, surprise evident on his face. She also sees the relief, as the pain drains from his body. "Does that feel better?" She asks.

"Y'know that it does." He replies.

She gives him the semblance of a smile as she meets his expectant gaze. "You should have been honest with me." She says. "I think you know that now." He nods in agreement, but doesn't interrupt her as she continues. "I don't agree with what you did... you really hurt me, Doyle. And, even worse, you could've killed some innocent person who had nothing to do with any of this." Again, he says nothing, but she can see the regret etched into every line of his face. "But... I understand that you were acting out of fear. Irrationally, impulsively, _stupidly_." She gives a little shrug. "And no one can punish you for that, more than you've already punished yourself."

He is searching her face, waiting to see where her train of thought will lead. Waiting to see if she will forgive him. She gives him his answer, squeezing his hand affectionately. "I hope you won't make the same mistake in the future. Because, if this relationship is going to work, we have to be honest with each other."

She watches as he digests her words and the meaning attached. "You still want that?" He asks incredulously. "With me?"

"Doyle, nothing you said in there has changed the way I feel about you." She says sincerely. "If all the stuff you did to push me away couldn't make me stop loving you, the truth certainly won't."

She registers the conflict on his face even before he puts words to it. "What if ya don't really feel that way?" He asks, the strain evident in his voice. "What if it's this thing inside me that's making you want me?" He hangs his head sadly. "I don't wanna take advantage of something that isn't real."

She smirks at that. "That's why you didn't want to tell me what was going on? You think I'm under a spell?"

"One of the reasons, yeah." He confirms. "But I'm more afraid of myself. Afraid that I won't be able to stop the thing if we get too close and the supernatural mojo kicks in again."

"You must be pretty terrified right now, then?" She says, shifting her body closer to his and enjoying his obvious discomfort.

"Well..." He replies, gesturing to the front doors of the hotel. "It helps to know there's a rather overprotective and vengeful vampire on the other side of those doors, yeah?"

"It's not a spell, Doyle." She insists, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I know it's not."

"Said just like someone under a spell." He retorts. "You can't possibly know that, darlin'."

"I do." She insists. "Because my feelings for you aren't new. I started to realize how I felt about you even before you died. And once you were gone... I _knew_. I knew I could've loved you. Knew that I probably already did." She watches his face as her words hit their target, but she isn't done. "Getting you back just confirmed what I'd figured out years ago." She reaches her other hand across his lap to join the hand already clutching his. "And if that isn't enough to convince you... Lorne told me there are no other spells. The one from the other night was a temporary thing. Just an aphrodisiac, like you said. It has nothing to do with our feelings for each other."

He blinks a few times at her admission, before giving her the hint of a smile. "I didn't know… I'd hoped I was winning ya over back then, but…."

"Now you know." She replies, placing her chin on his shoulder and pouting up at him. "But _I_ still don't. You've never told me how you feel about me."

She watches as his expression starts out resembling objection, then confusion and finally fills with contrition. "I guess I never said it 'cause I thought it was obvious." He leans closer, their noses only inches apart and drops his voice. The sincerity of his next words is palpable. "I've loved you since the first moment I saw ya."

"Oh." She replies, feeling her heart propel itself upward into her throat. Even if she'd already known it deep inside, hearing him say the words so wholeheartedly is far better than she could have imagined.

"I'm in love with ya, Cordy. And I always have been." Doyle whispers, lifting his free hand to stroke her right cheek. His face is so close and yet he makes no movement to kiss her. Good thing she's never been shy. She leans in, but he surprises her by pulling back. He keeps his hand on her cheek, eyes filled with mixed emotion. "I don't think that's a good idea, love. Not that I don't want to…"

"Doyle." She says with a mildly frustrated laugh. She maintains their close proximity as she teases him mercilessly. "You just told me you love me, and I _really_ want to kiss you. What do you think is gonna happen? We're outside in the middle of day. Overprotective vampire -with a crossbow- right inside, remember? You think you're gonna throw me down and take me right here in the middle of the courtyard and no one's gonna notice?"

"Well, I guess when you put it that way..." He replies, with a shrug.

She doesn't wait for him to finish his sentence. She leans in to complete the kiss she'd intended to start moments earlier and she feels him respond almost immediately. He keeps it slow and soft, but no less butterfly-inducing than their previous kisses. His thumb strokes her cheek unconsciously, and she allows herself to get lost in the moment.

A small squeal pulls her out of the clouds. She and Doyle break apart to find a boisterous Fred grinning ear-to-ear and a more subdued, but still visibly pleased, Gunn smirking at them in approval. "Oh, don't mind us. We didn't mean to interrupt." Fred says happily. "Go back to... _you know_."

Cordelia smiles up at her friends, taking special note of Gunn's expression. "No, it's fine, Fred." Cordelia reassures her. "Doyle prefers having a chaperone, anyway."

Fred's smile stays plastered to her face, even as confusion mixes in. Gunn steps forward to give Doyle an approving nod. "I'm just relieved I won't have to kick your ass anytime soon, man. It was looking kinda dicey for a little while there."

Doyle sits up a little straighter, and lifts his brow in agreement. "That makes two of us, man."

Fred hops up and down a bit in excitement. "Maybe we can double-date sometime? Wouldn't that be fun? Do y'all like mini-golf?"

"Well… there are worse things than mini-golf." Cordelia replies, trying to show a little enthusiasm for Fred's sake. "The ballet, for instance. Definitely worse."

Doyle looks more uncertain about the pleasures of mini-golf, as Cordelia watches his shoulders slump. "It might not be happy-fun time for us just yet." He remarks. "Maybe we can take a rain check, yeah?"

Fred's smile wavers a bit at Doyle's lackluster response, and Gunn's approving smile shifts to match her concern. "What's going on?" He asks.

Cordelia sighs heavily, giving Doyle a frustrated look. She has no intention of hiding their predicament from Fred and Gunn, but also doesn't have the energy to rehash it all right away. "I'll fill you in later." She says, waving them toward the lobby doors, a clear indication that she and Doyle need more time alone.

Fred and Gunn take the hint, proceeding across the courtyard and disappearing into the lobby, a little less excited than when they arrived.

"Way to rain on Fred's parade, Mr. Opposite-of-Sunshine." Cordelia says giving him a little punch in the arm. "I know we haven't found you a cure yet, but a double-date doesn't sound _that_ awful. What happened to the magnificent poker-face of Doyle?"

"I didn't mean to disappoint the girl." Doyle replies fidgeting in his seat. He pats his pockets for his pack of cigarettes, but upon seeing Cordelia's arched brow he remembers himself and stops searching. "I just don't think we should be acting like a couple. Not when we can't be together."

Cordelia observes him silently for a moment. "We are together." She deadpans.

His resulting look tells her that he thinks she's gone soft in the head. "Cordelia, you're takin' for granted that the spell won't get more aggressive as time goes by." He says calmly, but adamantly. "Being with me's an unnecessary risk."

"It's a necessary risk to me." She fires back. "So, we can't have sex. Big whoop! You think we're the first couple in history who can't have sex because of some horrible supernatural consequences." Cordelia points toward the lobby doors. "Hello, Buffy and Angel! One moment of true happiness and the guy goes homicidal."

"Well, they're not exactly together now, are they?" Doyle points out reasonably. "And, the truth is, Cordy…I may never be cured. I don't wanna hold ya back from having something normal."

"Too late for that." She replies. He looks up at her, confused as ever. "It's hard for a guy to measure up to a ghost, y'know? And I'm not talking about Dennis." She gives him a sad smile and he nods in understanding. "And when I finally did try to move on, look what I ended up with… a half-demon with tragic fashion sense who called me Princess."

"You're sayin' that Groosalugg guy reminded you of me?" He asks uncertainly. "'Cause, I gotta be honest, darlin', I didn't see much of a resemblance."

She sighs again, realizing that sometimes you just have to spell things out. "I'm saying... I want to be with you any way that I can be. No matter how abnormal it is." She pulls his right hand into her own lap, tracing her fingers along the palm of his hand. She lowers her voice to a sexier register, teasing him a bit. "And let's just say, I am _extremely motivated_ to help find you a cure."

"I can see that." Doyle replies, with a grin. "I'm feelin' pretty motivated myself."

"So, it's settled then?" Cordelia says brightly.

Doyle furrows his brow, maybe not entirely sure what had been settled. She stands up before he can object, and she notes the almost imperceptible grimace as the pain floods his body. She knows he isn't going to like it, but she refuses to stay away from him when she can take that pain away. "And that, right there, is precisely why I'm staying here with you tonight."

"Absolutely not." Doyle objects. "I can take the pain, Cordelia."

"But you shouldn't have to." She insists. "Not when I can take it away. We were fine last night and we were fine on my couch. We'll be fine again tonight."

She extends her hand out to him, waiting for him to take it. He stands slowly shaking his head. "Still the most stubborn girl I ever knew." He mumbles.

"And you still won't grab what's right in front of you." She flashes him her irresistible smile. She can see the exact moment when he caves.

He finally reaches out for her hand, thereby accepting her offer. "Well, what are we doing for chaperoning purposes?" He asks wryly. "Maybe ya wanna invite Fred and Gunn along? Get a jump on that whole double-date thing."

"Please, Doyle, if we're inviting someone into the bedroom, you know it'd have to be Angel." She says with a wink as they head toward the lobby entrance.

"That's not funny… Is this 'cause I said I was a little attracted?" Doyle wonders with mock-annoyance. "'Cause I'm more of a traditionalist when it comes to bedroom activities. I don't really like to share."

"No, it's because he'll be sure to make your death quick, if necessary."

"Ah… well, I guess that's okay then."

* * *

Cordelia stares up at the light of the full moon, feeling the sand beneath her feet. The waves crash onto shore nearby and a warm sea breeze kisses her skin, leaving saltiness behind in its wake. Something else kisses her skin... Doyle, his arms wrapped around her from behind, using his lips to leave a trail of heat down her neck and across her bare shoulder. He steps around her, coming into view and she can see his eyes shining brilliantly in the light from above.

She is about to step forward, returning to his arms when he suddenly collapses. She falls to his side, but can do nothing as she watches him writhe in pain, and finally stop.

He is not breathing. She can't find his pulse. She screams into the empty air for help, wondering if she can figure out CPR on her own. But, then his skin begins to wither and crack and crumble into dust right before her eyes. Soon, she can't tell what had been Doyle and what is merely sand on the shore. She sifts the remains of the man she loves through her fingers and screeeeeeeaaaaaamssssss...

Cordelia sits upright in bed, her heart pounding through her chest. She turns to see Doyle sleeping beside her. She would feel relief if she hadn't nearly had a heart attack. And then, she watches his body jolt backward and then forward. His skin turns green and the spikes appear on his face as he is forced into his demon form by the impact of the vision.

The vision!

That's when the nausea hits her. She is going to be sick. She barely remembers running from the bed to the toilet bowl, where she loses whatever remains of her dinner. And then her body shakes as she lets out an inhuman sob.

It hadn't been a nightmare. It had been a vision of Doyle's death. That thing inside him wouldn't sit idly by why Doyle kept it trapped.

He appears in the doorway of the bathroom, still in his demon form. It is probably the only way he is strong enough to have moved so quickly after his vision. He kneels down on the tile floor beside her, morphing back into his human face. He reaches for her, pulling her into his arms. As he does so, she comes somewhat back to her senses, clinging to his body that is still in one piece. She can't stop the tears. She can't stop the trembling.

She whimpers into his shoulder. "It's going to kill you..."


	22. Chapter 22: Butterflies and Hurricanes

***** CHAPTER 22 *****

Cordelia hangs up the phone slowly, her blood running cold. She had called Willow for help, knowing that Willow's magical abilities were nearly limitless at this point. But the news she'd heard from Xander was bad. Beyond bad. Willow's girlfriend had been killed and Willow is no help to any of them at the moment. In fact, it sounds a lot like Willow may be starting her own little apocalypse.

Cordelia really can't blame her. The thought of losing Doyle again, turns her stomach inside out. She gravitates closer to the bathroom, just in case. She can't keep anything down—seeing Doyle die over and over in her mind is making sure of that. His refusal to let her do anything to keep that from happening makes it even worse.

She glances over at Fred and Gunn who are sitting on the floor of Wesley's office, trying to make heads or tails of the piles of books. She can hear them arguing about which books will be the most helpful, with Gunn insisting they stick to English-only. They are severely handicapped without the one person who can understand most of the demonic languages written within those pages. And Doyle is going to die as a result.

Unless Cordelia can do something to stop that from happening.

She picks up the thick book of spells she had been leafing through prior to her call to Willow. It is a powerful book, she knows that much. And it isn't a book she can hope to read on her own. She slips unseen out the door, hoping there is still one more place she can turn.

* * *

Angel stands in the empty chamber with his arms crossed, fighting the urge to pace. His worry coupled with his inability to prevent his family from continuing to fall apart has worn him down. He had been angry, he had been depressed, now he was somewhere in between denial and bargaining. Acceptance was never going to happen.

He hears a flush and a previously unseen door opens to his right. Skip lumbers through the newly formed doorway with a newspaper rolled up under his arm. He doesn't seem surprised to see Angel standing there.

"Don't tell me. You're here to invite me to a baby shower, am I right?"

Angel's threadbare patience is not something to be trifled with. "Cordelia isn't pregnant, Skip."

"Seriously? The little half-breed couldn't even manage to get that right? Geez, what is it with that guy? He can never stick to the script."

"You admit it? That was why he was sent back? To _infect_ her?" Angel's jaw clenches in anger. He had initially been afraid that Doyle's return was too good to be true, but he had pushed his reservations aside in order to have his friend back. He should have known there would be a price he'd be unwilling to pay.

"No point in playing coy, is there? And can we please not refer to my Magnificent All-Powerful Master as an 'infection?'"

Angel's expression doesn't change. Skip shrugs and carries on, "He wasn't in on it, if that's what you're wondering. Although, technically, it is his fault that Cordelia is involved. You know, I had suggested sending him back evil. Boy, that would've been a hoot! But, no, I was overruled—it'd be too easy for you to kill him if he was evil. Way harder if he was _your_ Doyle—and trust me, he is, through and through. Plus, there was the whole "love" factor. Apparently that was more foolproof than brute force. Can't say I agree. It's always so messy and unpredictable."

"I'm not following."

"No, you wouldn't be, would you? Let me catch you up, since I don't have much else going on at the moment. Just twiddling my thumbs 'til the apocalypse, y'know?" As Skip pontificates, he moves away from Angel, opens a small refrigerator in the corner and pulls out a beer.

"Once upon a time, a loser half-demon with a chip on his shoulder was chosen by The Powers That Be for an open messenger gig—that loser would be Doyle, got it?" He looks over toward Angel who doesn't bother nodding. Skip pauses and gestures to his beer, "I'm sorry did you want one? No? Okay, so where was I? Right, so Doyle became an important fixture in the life of his assigned champion—that would be you. Friend, mentor, co-champion some of the time. He actually exceeded expectations, because I mean, look at the guy. You wouldn't expect much, am I right? Anyway… he screwed everything up by passing his visions to some spoiled ex-cheerleader from Sunnydale who didn't have a demonic bone in her body. Why? Because he _loved_ her. See why I'm not a big fan of the L-word?"

"I know all this, Skip."

"But you don't know what was really supposed to happen. Doyle was supposed to die with the visions, making it imperative that he be sent back to you sooner rather than later. The package—aka my Master—in tow."

"So, he was supposed to come back and infect Cordelia two years ago. I get it." Angel replies impatiently.

"No, you obviously don't get it. And _again_ with the infection thing—didn't we just talk about that?" Skip gives his equivalent of a frustrated sigh, "The package was not meant for Cordelia—not back then. It was meant for a young woman who already had a little demon in her, literally and figuratively. Someone who would've made the perfect vessel for a superior being. A certain chosen one ringing a bell?"

"Buffy? _...And Doyle?"_

"Geez, you really _are_ slow. Not that slayer. The other one. With the daddy issues."

"Wait… You're telling me that Doyle was supposed to fall in love with Faith?"

"Man, haven't you been listening _at all_? I'm telling you that Doyle and Faith were supposed to bring about the birth of my Master, and subsequently, the end of days, but _love_ would've had nothing to do with it. And that plan, my friend, was flawless."

"A flawless plan that was foiled by one kiss doesn't sound so flawless." Angel snarks.

"I don't think I like your tone."

"I'm done humoring you, Skip. What never happened isn't going to help me now."

"Good, because I'm not trying to help." Skip admits. "I'm trying to put things in perspective for you. See, this whole big apocalyptic plan is pretty much the _opposite_ of one of those choose-your-own-adventure books—the path can diverge at multiple points, but the ending will always remain the same. In this particular version of the story, Doyle fell in love, he gave away his visions and stayed dead. Faith's part was rewritten and a new vessel was chosen."

Angel's jaw tightens, "You chose Cordelia."

"Didn't have much of a choice, thanks to Doyle." Skip snorts. "You think we would've chosen _her_? No, visions or not, a human wasn't suitable. We were forced to improvise, which is why we added the chewy demon center." Skip shrugs at that, before continuing. "And then—and this is rather poetic, actually—by sending Doyle back, we were able to use the very thing that had veered our original plan off course. That would be love, for those of you in the cheap seats."

"You made them fall in love." Angel feels himself rapidly hitting boiling point.

"They were already in love, champ. We simply used that to our advantage." Skip clarifies.

"Well, now it's over, Skip." Angel declares. "The _real_ Powers That Be intervened. They sent a vision warning Doyle to stay away from Cordelia. So your plan has failed."

"Failed is a pretty strong word, considering that all the pieces are still in play."

Angel steps forward again so that he's as close to Skip's big, ugly head as he can get. He wants to make sure his words come out very clear. "Doyle won't do it. You just said it yourself, he loves her. He will never put Cordelia in danger. He'd rather die again."

"That is unfortunate, but not terribly surprising. Doyle wasn't chosen for his predictability, he was chosen for the predictability of those around him." Skip gives Angel a knowing look, waiting for him to put said picture together in his head. "I'm guessing that's why you're actually here, right? Because the little fail-safe kicked in and now you want to know how Doyle can be saved?"

"And I'm guessing you won't tell me." Angel seethes.

"I don't have to." Skip replies nonchalantly. "You already know the answer. And so does Cordelia, which is what really matters here."

"What exactly do you think she's going to be able to do?" Angel's question is rhetorical. He is not asking Skip for an answer, he is asking himself what she is capable of. So he can be ready to stop her.

"I know that she won't let him die. And neither will you, for that matter. Both of you love Doyle. Both of you will do whatever it takes to save him. It's just that she's the one with the ability to actually do so. If you were Doyle's type, maybe it could've gone differently…"

Angel looks down at the floor. He knows Skip is right. He knows that Cordelia will go to any length to save Doyle. She'd already said as much that morning.

"And if you _can't_ save him, well… the package will still be in play. We'll just toss it over to the next messenger who is…" Skip looks at his empty wrist, checking an invisible watch. "Yep… he's already in position. Ready to take over if needed. In fact, funny story, we were initially gonna skip right over all this Doyle business and go directly to the other messenger, but then we figured… eh, what the hell, why choose one when we can do both?"

Skip pauses for dramatic effect, relishing in Angel's defeated expression.

"What? You thought Doyle would die and it'd be over? Good guys win? Please. You don't spend millennia planning the end of the world, without having some contingencies in place."

Angel debates whether pummeling Skip will help the situation at all. Deciding that it might be better to keep the loose-lipped demon around for future interrogations, he turns away and slowly proceeds to the exit, trying not to let the weight of Skip's words slow him down.

"Oh and, Angel, let me warn you, if you're not a fan of the current plan, you are really REALLY going to hate the next one!"

* * *

Wesley's door swings open. He doesn't look good. Unwashed, unkempt, unraveled. Which is probably to be expected, considering he'd recently been fighting for his life in a hospital bed, and been abandoned by every friend he had in the world.

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice raspy. The large bandage on his neck reminding Cordelia why that is the case.

"How are you?" She allows a trace of sympathy to enter her voice, startled by his haggard appearance. Regardless of how she felt about the man's recent actions, she'd be lying if she said she didn't still care about him.

"I've had my throat slit and was nearly smothered to death." He rasps bitterly. "Why are you here, Cordelia?"

"I need your help." She says. She doesn't have time for small talk anyway. The fact that he is also not interested just makes it easier to cut to the chase. "Doyle is going to die. Soon."

"Sorry." He replies icily. "I don't care."

Cordelia steps forward, placing her foot in front of his door in case he tries to close it on her. "Wes, I know he doesn't mean anything to you, but he means a helluva lot to me. And to Angel."

"Why should I help a man who stood by and watched as Angel nearly killed me?" Wes' scratchy voice asks. "Or help a man who _did_ try and kill me for that matter?"

"You took his son!" She shouts instinctively and then catches herself, taking a deep breath. Shaking off her outburst she focuses on the hard sell. "Doyle couldn't have helped you. He was never cured. He couldn't have stopped Angel even if he'd tried."

Wes' face barely registers that revelation. "He didn't try."

Cordelia continues, hoping to appeal to whatever emotional tie is still there underneath the ragged, damaged surface. "I'm the one who saved you. And Fred. And Gunn."

"And two orderlies." Wes adds, making his point clear—Angel meant business.

"You owe me. And whether you acknowledge it or not, you owe Angel, too. You can't bring Connor back, but you can make sure we don't lose someone else we love."

His eyes drop down to the large book she carries under her arm. "If you want help with that, you need far more than I can give." He says.

"Just help me read it." She insists. "That's all I'm asking you to do."

He doesn't answer, but he opens the door wider and turns away, making it clear she is welcome to follow him inside.

* * *

Angel hovers in the doorway that exits out onto the rooftop. He can't walk out and join his friend in the bright sunshine, so he waits. He is certain that Doyle knows he's there, despite his delay in heading indoors. He suspects that has something to do with the pile of rubble that used to be Wesley's office. It had been decimated by hurricane Cordelia, who had turned the place upside down. And while right now, she is nowhere to be found, Doyle probably doesn't know that, hence his reluctance to leave his rooftop sanctuary.

Skip had been scarily accurate in predicting Cordelia's behavior. She had barely explained the vision to Angel, before she was begging Doyle to pass the supernatural parasite to her as intended. According to the vision, Doyle has until the full moon rises in three days; a pregnancy would likely take longer, thereby giving them time to stop it from maturing. Angel had to admit, it wasn't an entirely unreasonable argument, although it was not something he'd ever let happen. And not something Doyle would let happen either—which is exactly what he'd told her in no uncertain terms.

Then came the fireworks.

Angel had never seen them fight. He'd seen them bicker and tease and snipe. This was none of those. This was a raging battle—borne of anger, brought on by fear, caused by love. And it told him far more about their relationship than anything he'd heard or witnessed before that point. Because Angel could see the sparks flying as they each fought to protect the other. Knowing they were in love was one thing, witnessing their passion for each other was a whole different animal. It was something Angel had probably needed to see with his own eyes, because the fire between them purged him of any lingering uncertainties he had about them being together.

There is just no question that they belong together. And that will be the real tragedy in all of this, if they never get their chance.

After the smoke had cleared, Doyle retreated to clear his head. And Cordelia, well… so began the storm of books and files and phone calls. Angel had done the only thing he could do—he'd gone to see Skip, not expecting good news, but at least wanting to bring them some semblance of hope. Instead, he brought more hopelessness.

Now as Angel watches Doyle bask in the California sunshine, he wonders how Doyle is managing to remain so calm on the outside. He doesn't even appear to be drinking the bottle of whiskey, which sits a few inches beside him, still nearly full. That certainly says something, especially considering that sitting on the roof without Cordelia, is causing Doyle great physical pain—as does everything else. Angel wonders if he hasn't gotten so used to the pain at this point, that he has forgotten what life can be like without it.

All that aside, Angel knows there may have been a time when Doyle didn't care whether he lived or died; now is not that time. Now he wants to live for her sake... but he also wants to die for her sake. And so it seems, he is simply waiting for fate to decide his hand.

Doyle finally turns away from the sunny L.A. landscape and joins Angel at the top of the stairwell. He remains in the sun, while Angel in the shade, but they are at a comfortable talking distance.

"You don't have to tell me what happened, man. I can see it all over your face." Doyle says, leaning against the doorframe. "There is no saving me."

Angel shakes his head remorsefully, but says nothing. He doesn't have the heart to tell Doyle that his death might not even save her in the long run. That eventually, this thing will come for her again, and it won't be in the guise of a man who loves her enough to fight it.

"Ya tell her that?" Doyle asks hesitantly.

"I don't think it'd matter." Angel replies, finally breaking his self-imposed silence.

"I guess not." Doyle agrees, his voice heavy with fatigue. "I don't mind all this for myself, but I hate the thought of leavin' her again." He stares at his feet as he says the next part. "It's so much harder knowing..." He stops speaking, unable or unwilling to finish his thought. Angel doesn't need to hear it. He understands and he can say it for him.

"Knowing how much she loves you." Angel fills in.

"Yeah, that." Doyle mumbles hoarsely. He finally looks back up at Angel. "Makes me wish I could take it all away. If I'd never come back, she'd have been better off."

"You don't know that." Angel reasons, reflecting on the things Skip had told him. "We could have all been much worse off."

"Guess we'll never know…" Doyle's lips twitch into something loosely resembling a smile as he focuses on Angel's face in the shadows. "I hate that both of ya have to go through this all over again."

Angel stares back at the face of the best friend he'd ever had in his life, not willing to believe that it'd be gone for good in three days time. "At least we got more time."

"That we did." Doyle agrees. "And this time we can say a proper goodbye, yeah?"

"We're not saying goodbye yet, Doyle." Angel assures him. "We're not giving up without a fight."

Doyle doesn't look convinced that there's much of a fight to be had, but he forces a half-smile for Angel's sake. "Yeah, well, you fight. I'll keep score. Wherever I am."


	23. Chapter 23: Jar of Flies

***** CHAPTER 23 *****

Fred picks up the piece of notepaper and examines the familiar handwriting that had caught her eye. It's Wesley's handwriting. And the piece of paper in question had been shoved between a pile of books that Cordelia had specifically set aside for herself. Fred hadn't been purposely snooping; she'd merely been looking for one of the sticky colored flags she knew Cordelia kept in her desk. That's when her eyes had been drawn to Wesley's familiar scrawl. While she has no way of knowing for certain, she has a pretty good hunch it had been written recently, because it's obviously a spell intended for Doyle.

Fred's stomach twists in knots as she considers what that probably means- what Cordelia plans to do. Any momentary excitement she'd felt at the thought of Cordelia reaching out to Wesley evaporates instantly and leaves dread in its place.

Gunn startles her as he comes up behind, slipping his arms around her waist. "Hey, why so jumpy all the sudden? Even the demons are asleep at this hour."

His eyes fall on the paper that shakes slightly in Fred's trembling hand. He takes it away from her and reads for himself. "Wes wrote this, didn't he?" Gunn asks.

"It was in Cordy's pile." Fred explains, as she steps out of Gunn's embrace and watches his reaction. She can see him come to the same conclusion she already had.

"That girl's lost her freaking mind." Gunn scoffs. "She thinks she can trick Doyle into infecting her with that thing? Why would she even want to pull a crazy stunt like that?"

"She loves him." Fred says simply. "She's scared of losing him. Not just scared, terrified."

"Yeah, well... this is seriously bad news." Gunn replies. "I mean, forget what it'd do to her, she'd be risking Armageddon. And if that wasn't bad enough, she'd be taking away Doyle's choice in all this. It's worse than what Wesley did!"

Fred grips Gunn's hand for moral support. "Honestly, Charles. I don't think she cares. She would rather have him hate her than have him die again."

"I get that. I do." Gunn says, focusing on Fred, imagining what he would do for her, if they were in a similar situation. "But, we can't let her do it."

Fred nods, a grim expression on her face. "I know."

Gunn squeezes her hand, pulling her gaze back up toward him. "You think we should try talking to her first or go directly to Angel?"

"Go directly to me about what?" Angel asks, entering from the lobby.

Fred and Gunn stare at him nervously, not entirely sure this is the right way to handle things, but obviously not having any other choice in the matter. Angel looks at each of them expectantly, waiting. Gunn takes the burden off Fred, handing Angel the piece of paper that had caused them both so much distress.

"That's what Cordelia's been working on." He says ominously. "Something we need to talk her out of."

Angel stares at the spell in his hand, making no visible reaction, although that in itself is telling. He crosses to the pile of books on her desk flipping through the rest of them. "Enchantments, glamour spells, hypnosis..." He slams the books back down. She hadn't listened to a word Doyle had said the day before.

"Where is she now?" Angel asks, trying to keep his temper under control.

"I think..." Fred looks nervously up the stairs. "She said she needed to be with Doyle for a little while. It's the only reason she took a break."

"You don't think she's already tried one of these spells, do you?" Gunn asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Angel's posture holds in its tense position before he finally loosens just a bit. "No. Even if she's considering something like this, it'd be a last resort. She knows she has until the full moon."

"That's only two more days." Fred points out. "And nothing we found today has brought us any closer to saving Doyle."

"What are we going to do about all this?" Gunn asks, gesturing to Cordelia's pile of tricks.

"We're gonna stop her." Angel responds, heading back toward the lobby.

* * *

Angel had been tempted to storm Doyle's room and confront Cordelia immediately, but he'd settled for waiting until morning. Even though he assumed she and Doyle were incapable of sleeping, he still didn't want to disturb them. Their time together appears to be limited and he can only hope they are using it wisely.

Fred and Gunn appeared again not long after dawn. He was thankful for their moral support, not to mention their help in the _actual_ research department. It is several hours later when Cordelia finally descends the staircase into the lobby. She appears more well-rested than Angel had expected, but her eyes are slightly bloodshot. Either tears or alcohol or both had been part of her evening activities.

Angel stands at the front side of the counter as she approaches. Fred and Gunn lend their silent support from the opposite side. She takes in the three grave faces before her as she comes to a stop beside Angel. "Geez, guys. I'd ask who died, but isn't one pending-death enough?" She says. Her casual demeanor worries Angel more than hysteria would; it means she's already made her decision.

"Cordelia, we need to talk to you." Angel begins. She wrinkles her brow at him, darting a questioning glance at Fred and Gunn.

"All three of you?" She asks. "What is this an intervention?" Her eyes return to Angel and then she gets it. She knows. "Oh God, this _is_ an intervention." Her eyes fall on some of her spell books tossed on the counter before them. Wesley's transcribed spell sitting on top. "What did you do? Go through my stuff?"

"We were doing research, Cordy. To help Doyle." Fred chimes in nervously. "We weren't prying."

"Do I even have to tell you how foolish this would be? How _wrong_?" Angel asks, his voice edging into disappointed parent territory.

"Of course, I know that." She snits, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "I'm not a crazy person."

"Could've fooled me." Gunn mutters.

"So, you expect me to believe you collected all those spells and weren't planning to use any of them?" Angel asks doubtfully.

"I expect you to trust that I have good reason to use them." Cordelia answers. "I've thought this through. I'm not being a martyr, I'm gaining us time. Time that we desperately need."

As she speaks, Doyle appears at the top of the stairs and makes his way down silently. Angel and Cordelia's gazes remain firmly locked on each other, although Angel can see Doyle's approach with his peripheral vision. Even so, Doyle's presence isn't going to stop him from saying what needs to be said.

"And you don't care what it would do to Doyle? How it might change the way he feels about you?" Angel hopes that the threat of losing Doyle's love will jar her back to her senses, but apparently she can live without that as long as she has him. "Remember how it felt when you thought-."

"I never thought that." She cuts Angel off before he can bring up the night that was erased from her memory. "You might have, but I didn't. I know he'll be angry, but guess what, he'll also be alive."

"He'll never forgive you." Angel retorts.

Doyle is now close enough to overhear the conversation. He hangs back, not making his presence known to Cordelia. His brow is visibly furrowed with curiosity and grave concern.

"Not right away." She reasons, with a hint of pleading. She moves closer to Angel, upping the urgency in her voice. "Do you really think I want to have to trick him? I get it-it'd be a horrible betrayal. It'd make me a horrible person and I may lose him anyway. But, there's no other way to save him. And even if there is, we aren't going to find it before tomorrow night. That's all he has left. A pregnancy will give us more time."

"That might not be true!" Angel fires back. "Remember Wilson Christopher? One night with that guy and you woke up practically ready to give birth."

Angel can detect no reaction from Doyle regarding the revelation that Cordelia had been pregnant once before. He had said the words without thinking about whether or not they would hurt his friend. And really hurt feelings were inconsequential now. He had to get through to Cordelia by any means necessary. Doyle says nothing, still choosing to observe rather than intervene.

"This isn't the same thing." Cordelia argues. "I looked it up, okay. There is a difference between typical demon spawning, which is what that was, and a parasitic transferal, which is what this would be. It wouldn't be nine months, but it should take at least a month or two."

"You really have given it a lot of thought, huh?" Angel asks in frustration. "But have you thought about why Doyle told you he didn't want that? If we can't stop it, it will kill you."

"It's going to kill Doyle!" She shouts. "He wants to protect me from it, and everyone's fine with that. _Poor, helpless Cordelia, let's all be macho and protect her._ What if I want to protect him?! He's the one in mortal danger. Why does his life mean less than mine?"

"It doesn't mean less." Angel replies, lowering his voice to a more soothing level. He finally averts his eyes from her to land on Doyle. She takes the hint, and turns around to see Doyle standing there having heard most of their conversation.

"Oh, great." She says, dropping her crossed arms in defeat. "You wanna join in? Time for round two? Let me go grab my boxing gloves."

Doyle's expression is unreadable at first as he silently takes her in. Finally, he surprises all of them by giving her a smile. Although tinged with sadness, it's also warm and sympathetic. He steps closer to her, silently taking her hand. "Come for a walk with me, Princess." He says soothingly.

She takes a moment to calm herself from the events that preceded his arrival and then silently agrees. He says nothing to the others as he leads her to the front doors, but he takes a moment to share a parting glance with Angel. Doyle's look is clear... _he can get through to her._

* * *

Doyle and Cordelia are walking hand-in-hand through Echo Park. The sun is shining brightly in the clear blue sky and glimmering off the surface of the lake beside them. All around, people are jogging and walking dogs and just generally enjoying the picture perfect surroundings. It couldn't be a more beautiful Southern California day. The only cloud in sight is the one that's hanging over Cordelia's head.

Doyle lets go of her hand and instead slings his arm around her shoulders, whistling as they walk along the footpath. She stops walking, which causes him to stop as well. He looks down at her questioningly.

"How can you possibly be in such a good mood?" She asks incredulously. "You're whistling, Doyle. I don't think I've ever heard you whistle."

"Well, in case ya hadn't noticed, it's an absolutely gorgeous day and I have my arm around the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He grins down at her. "It doesn't get much better than that, yeah?"

"Why aren't you yelling at me for what you heard back at the hotel?" She asks, refusing to budge when he tries to start walking again.

"I don't wanna fight with ya." He says easily. "I wanna enjoy the time we've got left."

"You're going to die tomorrow." She replies, her voice wavering a bit. "And you don't even seem to care. Do you want to die? Is that it? Do you want to go back to heaven?"

"Ah…quite the contrary, darlin'." He says, stepping closer to her and sliding his arms around her waist. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you. Far as I'm concerned, this is heaven."

She looks up at him, confusion and grief mixing in her gaze. "Then why won't you stay here with me?" She asks pitifully. Her eyes begin to fill with tears and her voice catches at the back of her throat. "I want you to stay."

He lifts one of his hands and catches a falling tear with his thumb. "I wanna tell ya something." He strokes her face, spreading the salty wetness across her cheekbone. "I was wrong the other day when I told ya I was a curse. You were right the first time. This was a gift."

She shakes her head, disagreeing with his sentiment but keeps her eyes locked on to his. He keeps her face in the palm of his hand as he continues explaining himself. "Yeah, it is. Even if this is all we get. It's a gift and I'm not sorry it happened. Gettin' to tell ya that I love you, gettin' to hear ya say the same. I would never give that up. It's what I wanted since the day I met ya."

He searches her face for a reaction, and finds that his words have, perhaps, slowed the tears a bit. He wipes another stray droplet off her cheek and leans down hesitantly to kiss her, hovering near her lips, waiting for her acceptance. She closes the miniscule gap between them, kissing him tenderly in return. Her hands slide up his chest and he can feel her grip the material of his shirt as she pulls him closer to her. The kiss becomes slightly more urgent, but still appropriate for public consumption. Although, as Doyle pulls back from her lips, he can swear they are getting a few curious glances from passersby.

He looks down at her face, seeing the desire in her eyes even though they are still weighed down with sadness. He wishes he could give her more than words, but words are all he can offer, so he'd better make them good. "I promise ya, Cordy. Even though I'm leavin' again, I'll always be here with you. I'll always be yours. And any bit a happiness ya find will be mine as well, which means you're obligated to be happy. For my sake."

She sniffles up at him, wiping one of her own tears away. "It's not fair, Doyle. We keep being ripped apart before we have a real chance to be together."

He smiles down at her and gives a little shrug. "Isn't that how all great love stories are?"

"You think we're a great love story?" She asks in a small voice, still running her fingers over the front of his shirt. She isn't exactly smiling, but there is a small break in the clouds.

"I don't think they make 'em any greater than this." He replies, nuzzling her nose with his own and then stealing another kiss. "Forbidden and tragic and all that."

"I prefer the happy ones." She replies.

"Eh…who ever remembers the happy ones?" Doyle posits.

"I guess you're right." She says with a sigh. "Everyone knows Romeo and Juliet and look at how they ended up."

Doyle wrinkles his nose. "Oh, we're much better than those two. I mean, they were just kids. Talk about poor communication skills and a flair for the melodramatic. All that coulda been easily prevented."

She laughs, surprising even herself. "Or Lancelot and Guinevere, for that matter. I mean, he became a hermit and she went to a nunnery. That's not romantic, it's completely lame!"

Doyle reclaims her hand and pulls her gently along the path so they can keep walking. "Scarlett and Rhett, now that was a pretty good one, yeah?"

"Okay, well... I fell asleep about halfway through that movie." He gives her a disappointed shake of his head. "What? It was, like, four hours long. And, anyway, I know the gist. She drove him nuts and he walked out on her. How is that a great love story?"

"Sounds like love to me." Doyle jokes. "And with them, there was always a chance they'd get back together. ' _Tomorrow is another day_ …'"

"It helps if you have more than just tomorrow."

* * *

It's early evening. Doyle had spent the majority of the day, ensuring that Cordelia would have some good memories of him to reflect on in the future. Her initial reservations at enjoying the day, had lifted and he could see that her hesitant smiles turned into genuine ones. After lunch, he offered to take her anywhere she wanted to go- within county limits. He had half expected her to drag him shopping on Rodeo Drive or walk the pier in Santa Monica, but instead, she'd wanted to go up to the Griffith Observatory and take in the view. He suspected, she chose that for his benefit, more than her own, since she knew how much he enjoyed high places and the accompanying views. The Observatory, set atop the hills of Griffith Park, afforded them a breathtaking view of everything from downtown Los Angeles in the east, straight to the ocean in the west. He certainly couldn't complain about that; nor could he complain about the very affectionate Cordelia he had curled under his arm for the duration of the day. All in all, the sun was shining bright in Doyle City.

But all good days come to an end, and as the sun started to lower in the sky, Doyle knew he was coming closer to the point where he'd leave her devastated once again.

Now back at the hotel, Doyle decides it's time to spend the evening with the man he considers a brother. He finds Angel alone in the back office, straightening up some of the wreckage Cordelia had left behind. He is probably planning to reclaim it as his own, but in order to do so he has to find a place to sit.

"Hey, man." Doyle says from the doorway, knowing full well that Angel had sensed him far before he got that close. "What d'ya say to sharin' a drink with your ol' bud. The sun's almost down—we could head out to a pub or just stick to the roof, yeah?"

Angel takes a break from his organizing to give Doyle his complete focus. "Yeah, we can do that." He replies, but it's clear from the look on his face that there's more on his mind than he's readily saying.

"Listen, Angel, if you're worried about Cordy..." Doyle says, moving further into the office. "Well, it's gonna be hard for her. She's gonna need ya, in every sense of the word. I know I don't need to ask ya to be there for her. You'd do that anyway." Doyle pauses and gives Angel an encouraging smile. "And, just so y'know, you have my blessing. Whatever happens in the future... I'll be smilin' down on both of ya."

"I don't doubt that..." Angel replies. There is an unsaid "but" at the end of that sentence.

"What is it, man? You're worried she's still gonna try something? 'Cause I really think I helped bring her back to her senses." Doyle explains. "She's ready to let me go."

"No, she isn't." Angel insists. "And neither am I." Angel takes a deep, unneeded breath and levels Doyle with a determined look. "And I think I know how to make sure we don't have to."

Doyle feels his pulse quicken, but tries not to let the excitement go to his head. He tries to maintain his calm acceptance of his impending death, even while an edge of hope permeates his countenance. "Ya found somethin' in one of those books, did ya?"

"Not in the books, no." Angel explains. "I hadn't considered it before, because it's extreme. _Very_ extreme. And I'm guessing the price will be higher than we'd like to pay, but it's probably the only option left where we get to keep you alive beyond tomorrow and not put Cordelia at risk."

"I'm willin' to consider any price aside from her life." Doyle admits, allowing himself to get more and more hopeful even though Angel's demeanor is still relatively reserved. "So, what is it? What's this grand plan of yours?"

"I want to make a deal with the devil."


	24. Chapter 24: Migration

**A/N- Hello, lovely readers. I know some of you don't want the story to end, so I feel like I should warn you that it's getting very close. This (fairly long) chapter is the penultimate one. The final one should be up within a few days. Thank you for reading, I hope the next two chapters leave you satisfied! :)**

* * *

 ***** CHAPTER 24 *****

Doyle stares up at the tall building in front of him. When Angel had suggested a deal with the devil, he thought he'd meant literally. A deal with Wolfram & Hart seems so much worse.

"Nice of 'em to take an after hours call like this." Doyle comments to Angel, who stands beside him.

"I don't think 'nice' has anything to do with it." Angel replies. "They service enough creatures _of the night_ , that after hours are normal hours." Angel tilts his head thoughtfully. "Also, I'm not sure Lilah has much in the way of a social life."

"I know ya said this is the only way, man, but I admit... I'm starting to have second thoughts." Doyle runs his hands through his hair nervously. "I mean, we know this thing inside me is lookin' to get all apocalyptic once it gets born. Isn't handing it over to the enemy sorta setting ourselves up for disaster?" Doyle wonders. "Not saying I wanna die, but I also don't wanna help fulfill any prophecies that bring about the end of days. My life's not worth all that."

"The world still might end even if you die, Doyle." Angel confesses, turning to meet his friend's anxious gaze. "Skip told me there's another messenger lined up behind you. It'll come for her again, and I'm guessing it's not going to be the gentleman that you were."

Doyle absorbs that, maybe feeling just a little relieved to know he wouldn't be choosing to save his own life to the detriment of mankind. "So, this is really the only choice, then?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise." Angel assures him.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Doyle asks, stepping forward toward the entrance of the building. "Time to put our money on the dark horse..."

* * *

"We want it." Lilah says evenly. She sits behind her desk, swiveling her chair to look at Doyle and then at Angel. "Assuming you haven't oversold it, of course. Our shamans are already scanning Mr. Doyle as we speak. Once the veracity of your story is confirmed, we can talk further business."

"Uh... just Doyle." Doyle interrupts. Lilah pays him no mind, keeping most of her focus on Angel. If Doyle didn't know better, he'd think there was something more between the two aside from seething hatred... but, no, it was probably just the seething hatred.

"And you think you can remove it?" Angel asks, clearly not trusting Lilah to give him all the pertinent details up front. " _Without_ hurting Doyle?"

"As tempting as it would be to cause him _great_ pain and torment..." Lilah replies, still addressing only Angel. "We can remove it without causing any harm whatsoever. No muss, no fuss."

Doyle can't help but be impressed. They might be the embodiment of evil on earth, but boy, are these lawyers efficient. Angel knows them a little better than Doyle does, which is why he leans forward, eyes drilling into Lilah. "What's the price?"

She doesn't miss a beat. "Your soul."

The silence in the room is deafening. Doyle's heart drops into his stomach- he knew all this was too good to be true. His last chance was never really a chance at all. There is no way they can...

"Just kidding." She adds with a smirk.

"Not funny, Lilah." Angel growls.

"Oh, come on." She says with a laugh, finally turning to include Doyle in the conversation. "It was pretty funny." Doyle only offers her a quizzical look. She shrugs, swiveling her chair once again. "Tough room."

Her phone rings at that moment, and she holds up a finger to them as she answers it. "Lilah Morgan... I see... Are you sure?….Yes... Very good." With that she hangs up the phone and pulls a large file from one of the cabinets behind her desk. She takes a moment to spread out some of the paperwork before folding her hands on top of it and leveling Doyle with a very businesslike stare. "We'll offer you our boilerplate contract for someone of you stature, Mr. Doyle. Which is to say, it's a great deal better than what your average Joe would get. You see, we are aware of your previous work in service to the Powers That Be, as well as your role in fulfilling the Lister prophecies. We see you have future potential as an asset."

The words Doyle is hearing sound flattering, but he has a feeling they aren't really a good thing considering the source. "Ah... what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means..." Lilah continues. "We will remove the foreign entity from your DNA, without causing any lasting damage to you, and it will henceforth become the property of Wolfram & Hart, effective immediately..." She pauses briefly, making sure she has his undivided attention. "And you, Mr. Doyle, will become our property upon your death." She unfolds her hands and taps one of the sheets of paper spread out before her. "All we need is your signature on the dotted line."

Doyle feels his mouth go dry. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly-becoming Wolfram & Hart's property after death- but while bad, it didn't sound _that_ bad. He tries to formulate the proper questions in his mind, while Angel verbalizes some of his own. " _If_ he signs this, I want assurances that Wolfram  & Hart won't do anything to hurry Doyle's death in order to have their end of the bargain fulfilled sooner. In fact, you should go ahead and add that to the contract."

"No can do." Lilah replies smoothly, enjoying Angel's reservations. "Boilerplate means _no changes_. I'm afraid, we won't be adding any additional clauses."

"What if we walk away?" Angel threatens. "I'm sure your bosses won't be too pleased if you let something like this slip through your fingers."

"You won't." She says dismissively. "You would never have come here if it wasn't your last option." She turns back toward Doyle, giving him a curious once-over. "But, I'll level with you, Mr. Doyle. While I can't extend the same hands-off policy that your pal Angel enjoys courtesy of the Senior Partners- and believe me, that is not _my_ choice. I _can_ tell you that we don't usually have to interfere when it comes to contract fulfillment for those in your line of work. Statistically speaking, your chances of living a long life are fairly low. All we have to do is wait."

Doyle nods absently at her, swallowing heavily. He has been listening, but he also has started to think about all the other things that pushed him to this point. While none of this sounds terribly appealing to him, none of it sounds terribly unappealing either. At least, not yet. He might feel otherwise when it's time to pay his debt. He feels Angel's eyes on him and turns to meet his friend's wondering gaze. "Are you comfortable with all this?" He asks pointing to the pile of paperwork under Lilah's elbows. "You sign that paper and you are likely going to spend eternity in the hell dimension that is the basement of Wolfram & Hart."

"That's not necessarily true." Lilah cuts in. "You might end up in the mail room."

"Well..." Doyle says, finally finding his voice again, after not using it for so long. "I dunno if I'd use the word comfortable, exactly. But, the lady had a point about this being our last option."

"It's not." Angel insists gently. "If you prefer to go out now, you'll have a lot better deal in the afterlife. And I promise you, I will protect Cordelia from whatever comes next."

Doyle thinks about that for a minute—he'd never been able to remember anything from his afterlife. He'd long since figured out that was probably purposeful. There was a chance he'd been in heaven, and that he'd return there once again. And yet... Cordelia's face swims into focus in his mind's eye and he makes his decision without further hesitation. "Y'know... come to think of it. Heaven was kinda boring anyway. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll be stickin' around for a while." Angel's relieved face tells him all he needs to know. Angel hadn't wanted to pressure him into taking the deal, but he wanted his friend beside him.

Lilah flashes Angel a satisfied smile, before shoving the paperwork in Doyle's direction and handing him a pen with an extremely sharp tip. "You'll just have to..." She points toward her fingertip, indicating that he'd have to use his own blood to sign the contract.

Doyle scans the documents in front of him, making sure they actually say the things Lilah had explained. No reason to sign hastily, after all. Once he confirms that all is in order, he pricks his left index finger with the tip of the sharp pen and signs his full name...

 _Allen Francis Doyle._

* * *

"How do you feel?"

Doyle and Angel enter the front gates into the courtyard of the Hyperion. Doyle flashes a wide grin in Angel's direction. "Like a million bucks, give or take."

"No pain whatsoever?" Angel asks for what feels like the hundredth time. He appreciates his friend's excitement and enthusiasm, but they'd already been through this back at Wolfram & Hart's offices and then again in the car. It suddenly occurs to Doyle why Angel might still be in disbelief. He stops walking, holding up a hand to signal Angel to stop along with him.

"Angel, man. I'm good as new." As Doyle says the words, he places a hand firmly on Angel's shoulder holding it there steadily. There is no flinching or wincing or collapsing in agony. Doyle is cured. For real this time. "And I owe that to you. It was a good call, going to the lawyers."

"Had to be done." Angel replies, patting Doyle's hand that still rests on his shoulder. "What are you going to tell Cordelia?"

Doyle retracts his hand, giving Angel a hapless shrug. "I was thinking I'd stick with the truth. Hopefully, by the time that whole eternity-in-a-mail-room thing becomes an issue we'll have lived a long life together and both be too senile to care what happens next." He answers half-jokingly. "If we're takin' bets, approximately how long ya think it'll take her to forgive me for going to Wolfram & Hart?"

"She'll forgive you before she forgives me." Angel reasons. "But, I have to ask… what exactly is the truth?" Angel had been skirting around that question since they'd left Wolfram & Hart's home office.

"The truth is… I don't know. They warned me I wouldn't remember the procedure and I figured, that was probably for the best. You and I both know it couldn't have been anything good."

"And this way, you won't have to lie."

"Exactly." Doyle concedes. "Cordy can be mad all she wants, but she can't accuse me of keeping anything from her. I'm hoping she'll be so overcome with joy on account of me not being dead, that she'll be willing to overlook the means it took to make sure that'd happen."

Angel chuckles. "I think you can probably figure out a way to distract her."

Doyle takes Angel's meaning and waggles his brow in agreement. "Yeah, but first, I'd better sing a little tune for Lorne, just to make sure those lawyers aren't trying to pull a fast one, yeah?"

"You're just looking for an excuse to do your Bono impression again."

"That's not entirely untrue." Doyle agrees. "But, I'd also be singing for Cordy's benefit."

Angel says nothing at that, but the trace of a smile hangs on his lips. Doyle observes his friend quietly for a moment before broaching a subject he probably should have brought up before now. "Speaking of Cordy… are ya gonna be okay with me and her, y'know…?"

Angel tilts his head, clearly objecting to this line of questioning, "Doyle—"

"Listen, man, I know how you feel about her. And obviously I understand better than anyone why ya do. I'm just wondering if you don't think it's a little unfair that a fella comes back from the dead and then goes ahead and cuts to the front of the line." Doyle pauses, waiting for Angel to look him in the eye. "The thing of it is… she loves us both."

"She does." Angel agrees, "but she's only _in love_ with one of us."

Doyle folds his arms over his chest, digesting those words. "But still… you and me. We're like brothers, man. I don't want that to change. I don't want ya…." Doyle sighs, finally forcing himself to say the thing that's been eating away at him for weeks. "I don't want ya to resent me for being with her."

"Doyle." Angel places both hands on Doyle's shoulders, shaking him lightly, with the hope that it'll jolt a little sense back into him. "I want you to be happy. Both of you. Just… make her happy, okay?"

"Will do, man." And he means it. There's nothing Doyle wants to do more than make Cordelia happy. The two are in agreement as they continue their procession to the front doors of the Hyperion lobby. "Thank God you said that, 'cause I wasn't really sure she'd let me break up with her again. She's kinda stubborn that way."

"Oh, and Doyle. If you ever hurt her…"

"I know, I know. Torn limb from limb. Got it."

They enter the lobby doors and Doyle is stopped short by Angel, who throws an arm out in front of him almost exactly as a falling axe nearly splits his head into two. Instead, the axe hits the floor with a clang, centimeters in front of his toes. Holding the other end of the axe is Skip, who looks none too pleased. "Hey Angel, hope you don't mind me dropping by your place this time." He snarks.

Angel immediately lunges toward Skip, attempting to throw the larger demon off balance, but instead he is thrown backwards into Doyle and the two land in a heap at Skip's feat. As Doyle lands under Angel, he morphs into his demon form, but doesn't shake it off this time. Looking at Skip's foreboding form, he figures it might be the difference between life and death.

"Y'know…" Skip says, lurking over them menacingly. "I thought we had an understanding, Angel. You play by the good guy rules, I play by the bad guy rules and everything goes as planned." Skip holds the axe over them, but doesn't move to strike just yet. "This whole thing was supposed to be a catch-22; and the beauty of a catch-22 is that there is no way out. But, you cheated and that's _really_ not cool."

"Not my fault your plan was flawed." Angel growls up at the other demon.

"Angel, man. Maybe you don't wanna make the giant demon with the axe any more angry than he already is, yeah?" Doyle mutters from underneath him.

"Here's the thing, Angel." Skip says, placing the head of the axe over his shoulder as he speaks. "If you think you actually _won_ by handing my Master over to Wolfram  & Hart, then think again. That decision is going to cost you in ways you haven't even begun to imagine."

He lifts the axe over them threateningly. "Starting right now, when I kill all your friends. Guess I'll start with Doyle. Sound good to you?"

"Hey Skip, remember me?" The voice is Cordelia's. She stands several feet behind Skip, brandishing a sword. Gunn is beside her with something resembling a mace and Fred is above them, in the middle of the staircase, crossbow in hand. Skip turns at the sound of Cordelia's voice.

"Cordelia, good to see you." He replies amicably, giving her a little wave and a grin.

Using the distraction, Angel vamps out and lunges once again, this time managing to knock the axe out of Skip's hands. It scatters across the floor out of the way and Doyle scuffles after it. Skip doesn't need the weapon, his talons are threatening enough, which he proves when he punches Angel several feet backwards. Doyle, who is closest to the action, springs up with the axe in hand, only to find himself hurtling backwards through the air. He lands with a sickening crack—his shoulder severely dislocated from his body. Good thing, he can pop it back into place, as he has done with his neck.

Upon readjusting himself he looks up to see Cordelia stepping toward Skip. He swings at her, which she ducks adeptly. Doyle is impressed, he knew she had done a lot of training with Angel during the time he was gone, but to see her in action was a thing of beauty. She spins around brandishing the sword and strikes a blow at Skips's neck, which would surely have decapitated a lesser demon. Unfortunately, Skip is not a lesser demon. He laughs at her attempt to penetrate his armor and sends her hurtling through the air just as he had done to Angel and Doyle. Only she doesn't have the demon strength to take such a brutal hit. Doyle watches as she crash lands against the side of the counter and doesn't move. His heart leaps into his stomach; he can't get to her with the big, angry demon in his way. But, he watches Gunn rush to her side, and checks to make sure she is still breathing.

Angel's voice pulls his focus back toward the center of the room. "Everyone stay back. His armor is impenetrable." Angel steps forward, facing off with Skip directly. "Which means he's all mine."

From beside a still unmoving Cordelia, Gunn tosses Angel his mace, which Angel catches deftly. He swings it at Skip, who allows it to hit him, illustrating what little effect it has. "Yeah, impenetrable armor is pretty great, isn't it? Too bad you don't have your own."

Doyle rises from his place on the floor, hoping to divert Skip's attention and give Angel the upper hand, but Angel calls him off. "Doyle, don't." He says stepping in Doyle's path and taking another swing at Skip, who swings back, narrowly missing Angel who leaps out of the way before being thrown once again.

Suddenly an ear piercing noise causes them all to freeze in place, covering their ears. Lorne has appeared at the top of the stairs and is using his most powerful weapon to debilitate Skip—his deafening high note. Skip falters along with everyone else, and Angel, although still off balance, uses the moment to wrap the chain of the mace around one of Skips protruding spikes and rips it off violently, exposing a giant hole in his armor. "Fred. Arrow. Now." Angel orders.

Fred shoots and Angel catches the arrow out of the air, slamming it into the vulnerable flesh below Skips' neck, where his spike used to be. Skip falls backward, visibly impaired by the wound. Down, but not out. "That was a good one." He chokes.

Probably realizing that being damaged and outnumbered is not going to end particularly well for him, Skip begins to shimmer and then fades right before their eyes. "I think I'm just gonna head back to my place and find some bandaids." His voice echoes through the lobby as he disappears from sight. "I'll see you again real soon, Angel."

With that, Skip is gone. Back to his home dimension. Leaving only silence in his wake.

As soon as the space in front of him is empty, Doyle doesn't hesitate. He races to Cordelia's side. As he lands on his knees beside her, he sheds his demon form, almost forgetting he had been wearing it in the first place. Cordelia is now conscious. But, she is clearly in pain as she rolls over slowly, her arm wrapped defensively across her chest. "God, Princess, ya gave me a scare!" He says, sliding his hand across her back, and helping her sit up slowly.

"Now… you know… how I feel." She wheezes out, trying to catch her breath. Doyle lifts her shirt halfway, seeing that her ribs are bruising already—a sign of possible fracture.

"Everyone else okay?" Angel asks, from over Doyle's shoulder. Doyle gives Angel a distracted nod, still keeping his eyes on Cordelia. Gunn is still crouched on her other side of her and Fred and Lorne appear behind him. They all mumble their affirmations—no one else was injured aside from Angel himself, but his wounds would heal quickly enough.

"Why did he attack us?" Fred asks from her place behind Gunn.

"'Cause we won, darlin'." Doyle replies, directing his answer toward Cordelia who raises her eyes to meet him curiously.

"We won?" She asks breathily, still recovering from her blow. "You mean…?"

A grin spreads across Doyle's face as he confirms the good news. "Looks like you're stuck with me."

She beams, but doesn't move. "I'd really like to throw my arms around you in excitement, but I think I need another minute." She admits, wincing a bit.

He leans forward, gently kissing her on the forehead. "Plenty of time for celebration and all that. Right now, we'd better have those ribs looked at, yeah?"

"I'll go anywhere you want." She says with a sincere smile. "As long as you're staying with me."

Doyle and Gunn work together to slowly lift Cordelia into a standing position, trying to minimize her pain. She pauses, giving Doyle an uncertain look. "Your pain is gone?" She asks.

Angel answers her question, by slapping Doyle on the back. Doyle jumps a little, taken by surprise, but then he chuckles. "Completely." He confirms. "I'm sure we'll be sitting in the waiting room at the ER long enough for me to tell ya the whole thing. And whenever ya don't like what you're hearing, be sure to remind yourself that the other option was me dying."

Fred steps forward with a cockeyed smile. "Since Cordelia can't do the whole, throw her arms around you in excitement. Will you take a substitution? Just for now?" She asks hopefully.

"O'course, love. I've never been one to refuse a hug from a beautiful woman." Doyle replies, opening his arms to Fred who jumps in them enthusiastically and squeezes him tight. After Fred let's go, Doyle holds out a hand toward Gunn. "I won't be huggin' ya, bud, but I'm hopin' you'll settle for some skin."

Gunn holds out a fist. "How about a fist bump instead? More manly." Doyle meets Gunn's fist with his own and then turns to Lorne. "What about you, Lorne. Ya wanna little piece of the Doyle action?"

Lorne gives Doyle a friendly wink. "I'll take a rain check. Maybe when you come sing for me again."

"I'll be taking requests." Doyle announces with a broad grin, slipping his arm carefully around Cordelia's shoulders and enjoying how right it feels to have her there beside him.

"Anything but U2." Gunn insists.

"That's… not even funny, man." Doyle says feigning annoyance.

" _I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For_." Fred suggests.

"Ah… but that's not true." Doyle says, grinning down at the top of Cordelia's head.

" _Numb_." Angel mumbles, eliciting a horrified look from Doyle. "What? It's… unique."

" _Beautiful Day_." Lorne adds, which brings a confused look to Doyle's face. Lorne's eyebrows wrinkle and then he raises a hand to his forehead. "Sorry. After your time. And before your new time. Maybe Cordelia can help catch you up on the U2 discography. It's expanded a bit."

"I have one." Cordelia says, from beneath his arm. " _Desire_."

Doyle grins down at her mischievously and raises his eyebrows in approval. "I think we have a winner." She grins up at him, and he can see the joy in her eyes. He has found what he was looking for and he's not letting it out of his sight. "On that note, why don't we getya off to the hospital, love?" Doyle says, before turning back to all the friendly faces around him. "I'll be seeing you all tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. You're all gonna be sick of me before ya know it."

"We're already sick of you." Angel says with a smile.

"Angel's making jokes again." Cordelia enthused on their way to the front door. "Will wonders never cease?"


	25. Chapter 25: In The Garden

***** CHAPTER 25 *****

Cordelia opens her front door to reveal Doyle, loaded down with several bags from her favorite Thai takeout place. The delicious aroma wafts through the doorway, and although everything she could possibly want is now standing in her doorway, she narrows her eyes at him relishing in the opportunity to give him a hard time. "I was kidding about the takeout on the couch thing. I still expect to be wined and dined on a regular basis. Especially after everything you've put me through."

Doyle juggles the bags in his arms, appearing a bit flustered. "Ah… well, I have every intention of wining and dining ya, love, when those ribs of yours are all healed up. For now ya get takeout, yeah?"

She sighs, feigning reluctant acceptance, and steps out of the doorway to allow him access inside. He walks through the living room, placing the bags down on her coffee table and she follows behind him silent as a cat.

As he turns back around to face her, he is surprised to find her right behind him. Apparently, whatever heightened senses he'd had while he was in possession of the parasite are no more—now he's regular old Doyle, all too easy to sneak up on. She makes her move, albeit gingerly—immediately stepping into his personal space, sliding her arms around his body and capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. "Well, hello to you, too, darlin'" He mumbles against her mouth. She continues kissing him, deeply but tenderly, feeling him reciprocate, but she can tell he's holding back. He pulls away and nods toward the hot food behind him. "Aren't ya hungry?"

"I am starved." She replies, standing on her tiptoes so her lips hang tauntingly in front of his own. "For _dessert_." She adds huskily, closing her eyes and waiting for him to ravish her. She keeps waiting. She reopens her eyes and sees his hesitant look.

"Doyle, come on," she says disappointedly, dropping back to the flats of her heels. "I'm not being subtle here. Why are you killing the mood? Is this about Dennis again?"

As if in reply to hearing his name mentioned, Dennis begins lighting candles around the room and turns on the CD player, which has The Cranberries cued up.

Doyle points to the air. "I didn't know ya liked The Cranberries."

"This isn't mine." She says looking at the CD player in puzzlement. "Don't ask me where Dennis got it."

"That's awfully nice of him." Doyle admits.

"I told you, he likes you." Cordelia says. "And he clearly wants us to enjoy ourselves, so…" She moves to step forward again, but he holds up a hand to stop her.

"That's not it…I, uh… well, you're injured, Cordy." He finally admits. "I don't want to hurt ya."

"Oh, is that all?" She asks, immediately reclaiming her former position, getting up close and personal. "Well, get over it, mmkay?"

"Aren't ya hurtin'?" He asks, concern etched across his brow.

"It's not that bad, Doyle. Just one little hairline fracture on my rib. I'm not gonna let it stop me from getting what I want." She digs her index finger into the middle of his chest. "And what I want right now is _you_."

"Why don't we just take it a bit slower, yeah?" He asks, holding her forearms lightly to keep her from pouncing.

She pretends to think for a minute. "Um… no. I don't think that's going to work for me." She replies pushing against his light resistance. Since he refuses to apply real pressure, she easily wins. Her prize is sliding her hands up beneath his brown leather jacket and pushing it down off his shoulders until it finally drops to the floor. "You see, Doyle. I have been very patient. I mean, first you _died_ , and then you came back all broody and distant…"

"I was not broody." He objects. "All things considered."

She starts unbuttoning the buttons on the hideous green and yellow floral shirt she had discovered underneath his leather jacket. The quicker this ugly thing is out of her eyesight the better she'll feel. "And then, our first date got hijacked by the forces of evil…"

"Ah… yeah, that was unfortunate." He replies, watching as she completes her unbuttoning process and begins to yank off his offensive shirt.

"Then, you broke up with me." She pouts, tossing the ugly shirt to the side. "And don't even get me started on the last few days, which I spent thinking I was about to lose you forever."

"Well, when ya put it that way…" He says, grinning in embarrassment. "…I probably do owe ya more than takeout."

"All that and you are _still_ trying to slow me down?" She asks, licking her lips sensuously, knowing his eyes are now glued to them.

"Well…" Doyle's voice is considerably huskier as she runs her hands underneath his final layer—a simple white tank top. "I only meant that you should _move_ a little slower, which ya appear to be doin', so…"

He gives in, pulling her toward him firmly, and yet still gently. He finally kisses her the way she wants him to be kissing her and she feels her knees go weak. He had always been a great kisser. Even when he was about to jump to his death, he'd been able to take her breath away. But now was better, because he never had to stop.

Although, he does stop…but this time it's so he can help her unbutton and remove her blouse. She can tell he is still being extra-gentle with her, but as long as he doesn't stop what he's doing, she'll allow it. He leans down and whispers close to her ear, which sends pleasurable shivers down her spine. "Thank you for never givin' up on me… even when I gave ya good reason."

She leans back so she can meet his eyes. "I don't give up on the people I love, Doyle."

"I love you, too, Princess." He replies, leaning in to kiss her once more. She pushes him back to pull the tank top over his head and she sees his eyes rake over her now half-naked body appreciatively. Despite the large, dark bruise covering the right side of her rib cage, he doesn't appear to have a single complaint. She sees the wicked gleam in his eyes as he gets more comfortable with the idea of ravishing her, injury and all. "Dunno what I did to get this lucky."

"Well…. you had to die a horrible death first." She rolls her eyes playfully, as she steps forward and presses her bare skin to his and pulls his lips back down to meet hers. "Something you are most certainly never allowed to do again."

"Yes, Ma'am." He mumbles, recapturing her lips. She gets lost in his kisses as he starts to walk her backwards down the hallway. By the time they make it to her bedroom, she can tell he has long forgotten any hesitations he may have had. He is kissing every inch of her neck as they move toward the bed, his fingers are hooked casually in the waistband of her jeans. She feels his fingers fumble for her zipper and then he surprises her by dropping down to his knees in order to kiss her belly. "If you're gonna be stubborn and insist on being ravished, then we're gonna do things my way." His soft words vibrate against her skin, creating an incredibly pleasurable sensation.

As he pulls the material of her jeans downward, his lips cut a horizontal path from her left hip to her right one. She watches him from above, enjoying his slow, tantalizing ministrations, but starting to wonder if he isn't just stalling… "Doyle..." She says breathily, but with an edge of warning. "If your way is to make me think I'm getting _my way_ and then never get to the good stuff… _oh."_

Well, she isn't going to complain about _that._

* * *

As the night went on, she really couldn't complain about anything at all. No, she did quite the opposite, in fact. She couldn't be sure, but she suspected the neighbors heard how rather complimentary she became. Multiple times.

He wasn't complaining either, for that matter.

After they had exhausted themselves completely, and they lay sleepily in each other's arms, he rolls toward her and mumbles in her ear. "I think ya were sayin' something earlier, darlin'?"

"Nevermind." She replies wrinkling her nose cutely at him.

"Ah... got your way, did ya?" He responds with an exhausted chuckle, settling into his pillow.

"My way is usually the right way, Doyle." Cordelia sighs. "You should keep that in mind for the future."

Doyle makes a noise that seems to indicate his agreement. As his eyes begin to close, he mumbles softly to her, "Maybe I do prefer a great love story with a happy ending."

"Oh yeah?" She asks, perking up despite her own exhaustion. "You still think we're a great love story?"

"That I do, Princess. " He whispers with a sleepy smile. "And it's just beginning…"

* * *

Cordelia blinks her eyes open, allowing the bright room to come into focus. Above her is nothing but the ceiling of her bedroom, but the sensations around her are new and different. Her brain starts to put the pieces together. The warm sensation across her belly is Doyle's arm that is wrapped snugly around her. The light feathery breeze against her shoulder is his breath landing there, slowly and steadily. The smell lingering in the air is his aftershave, a brand she can't readily identify, which means it's probably cheap. But, it isn't terrible, and whatever it is most certainly belongs to him, even without the undertones of cigarette smoke and whiskey that had traditionally accompanied it in the past.

As she inhales deeply, she is brought back to the time when she had been forced to live without him. How she would imagine him still sitting silently reading his paper beside her. It would work sometimes—she could almost forget he was gone, and yet there was something missing, aside from the obvious. Then one day, she had caught a whiff of his aftershave on someone else and her heart had caught in her chest. She had turned around almost certain she'd find him standing there, and all too disappointed when reality set in.

But that was then, and this is now. And now that she had him back, all of her senses could be filled with him.

She rolls into his warmth, cringing slightly at the sharp pain in the right side of her chest. He had done a remarkable job of making her forget her injuries the night before. Pain aside, the feeling of his bare skin against hers beneath the covers, sends a familiar current of electricity through her.

Her eyes study his features as he sleeps. She can't help but notice how beautiful he looks, even with his best feature currently hidden behind his eyelids. She wonders if he was always this attractive, or if he'd become much more so since she'd realized how much she loves him. Either way, she now has to ask herself how she could have ever thought otherwise. She reaches out and plays with the dark strands of hair, sticking up on their ends and traces her fingers lightly down his jawline.

A smile on his lips lets her know that he is slowly waking up, although he doesn't open his eyes yet. "'Mornin', Princess." He mumbles groggily.

She loves hearing those words first thing in the morning, especially when they're accompanied by a flash of his dimple. "Good Morning." She replies, keeping her voice low and sweet.

She feels him move the arm he had slung around her. His fingers graze her lower back, careful not to go anywhere near her injured ribcage. His slight movement is enough to send goose bumps across her smooth flesh. It's like her body just can't help but react to his touch.

His eyes open, still heavy with sleep. He looks much younger than his years at this moment. "How ya feelin'?" He asks, sounding every bit as sleepy as he looks. Even so, she thinks it's sweet that his first sentence before he can form complete thoughts is about her wellbeing.

"Better than ever." She replies, nuzzling her nose against his. "Ready for round two."

His eyes close as he chuckles at her statement and rolls onto his back, retrieving his arm from her body in order to rub his sleepy eyes with the heels of his hands. "Uh…unless I was really misinterpreting things last night, darlin', I'd say we're well beyond round two, yeah?"

She laughs at that, enjoying the look of him half-asleep in her bed. "Okay, whatever round we're on, then." She carefully positions herself so she can lean on her left elbow and look down at him. He in turn bends his right arm so his hand rests under his head as he looks up, meeting her expectant gaze.

"I really like this." She says, flashing him a bright smile.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific." He replies with a lopsided grin. "Which part did ya like?"

"All of it." She laughs. "But, specifically, _this._ The whole waking-up-in-my-lover's-arms-thing. It's silly, I know, but I've never had this before. Did I mention how tragic my love life was while you were gone?"

"Cordy…" He smiles at her warmly, his green eyes drawing her in. "It doesn't sound silly."

"Well… it seems less silly now." She reasons, reaching out to trace her fingers along the upper portion of his chest. She can tell by his smile that he enjoys the thought of being the first man to hold that particular honor... and she hopes the only. As that thought passes through her brain, the truth of it almost scares her a little. Definitely something she needs to keep to herself… for now.

"I hope I met all your expectations, love." He says with a wink.

Cordelia chews her lip thoughtfully. She can tell he is only joking, but she gives him a serious reply anyway. "I mean, not that I have a lot of experience or anything. But, I thought the sex was pretty incredible, right? _Way_ better than average. Or, did it just seem that way because of how much I love you?" She feels her cheeks heat up as she says the words.

He eyes her curiously, probably wondering where her sudden bashfulness came from. Perhaps, he was just beginning to realize how inexperienced she was in the actual _love_ department. She watches as understanding finally registers on his face. And all her previous proclamations of love resonate that much more for him. He rolls closer to her, and kisses her tenderly in reply, taking her breath away. When he pulls back, he simply says. "Love does have a way of doing that, darlin'."

She blinks herself back into reality, and refocuses on his eyes. "I want this to be every morning." She hears her own voice confess to him.

"Now, isn't it a little too soon to be askin' me to move in with ya?" His eyes twinkle with humor. "I mean, what's next? Will we start naming our kids?"

She laughs at first and pinches his chest playfully. "Ouch!" He cries, catching her hand in his own. "Keep your hands to yourself, woman."

She keeps smiling, but her words are serious. "Is it too soon?" She blurts.

"Ah…" He blanches at her words, but tries to keep his voice light. "Which part…? 'Cause while I'd like to think we'll talk about kids someday, that's definitely not second date material. We really oughtta wait at least until our third date, yeah?"

"Not that part." Cordelia clarifies with a playful eye roll. "The moving in part."

He realizes that she is not joking and he studies her silently for a moment. "Well… if you're really asking me to move in…" He arches a brow at her. "Are ya really asking that?"

She nods hesitantly. "You said when you're here it feels like you're home. I was just thinking… maybe it should be."

"I did say that, didn't I?" He responds, turning to stare up at the ceiling. The longer it takes him to respond the more nervous she gets. Maybe it is too soon. Maybe she is scaring him away by rushing him…

"It's a pretty big step." He says. "But, if you're really askin'… then I'm saying yes."

She has no control over the wide smile that takes over her face, but she gets a fairly wide one in return from him. "And it'll be real easy, too." He adds. "'Cause I don't own anything."

"Except for some very ugly clothing." She adds tauntingly.

"Now see…" He says with a faux-worried expression on his face. "There ya go already. If I move in here am I gonna find all my clothes out by the Goodwill box one day?"

"Isn't that where you find all your clothes in the first place?" She jokes. He flashes her the puppy dog eyes and she melts instantly. "I promise I shall never lay a hand on your hideous wardrobe, as long as we both shall live. Happy?"

"Happy doesn't quite cover it, darlin'." He replies, moving closer to kiss her once again.

This time when he kisses her, he doesn't stop and she can feel things headed into round _whatever_ territory. She breaks the kiss momentarily, not being able to control the urge to tease him just a little bit more—payback for making her squirm. "Does this mean you don't mind having Dennis watch everything you do?" She jokes.

"The guy's dead." Doyle replies, eyes transfixed on her bottom lip. "I figure he needs to have _some_ fun." He slips his arm around her bottom and pulls her flush against him, causing her to gasp. "And I'm hoping if I ask nice enough he'll make us some breakfast in bed. What d'ya say there, bud? Bacon and eggs for your new housemate?"

She would laugh at his joke, if she wasn't so focused on the placement of his hand, the look in his eyes and the pressure of his body against hers. She lets herself be drawn back toward his lips, and lose herself completely.

She only vaguely registers the smell of bacon and eggs filling the air, as Doyle reminds her once again just how fantastic it can feel to be in love.

* * *

 ***** Epilogue *****

In a long, dark corridor in the recesses of Wolfram & Hart's Los Angeles office, a solitary file clerk wheels the large gurney containing what appears to the naked eye as one small glowing orb.

Several stories up, Lilah Morgan sips her morning coffee with a satisfied smile on her face. She had done well. Not only securing the company an incredibly powerful entity to aid them in the coming apocalypse, but also adding a new ace up their sleeve in the form of Angel's best friend, Doyle. That was going to come in oh-so-handy one day soon.

When the dominoes eventually fall over, it will be a clear path to the finish.

For now, there are a few more pieces that need to be put in place.

Lilah puts down her mug and reaches for the intercom on her desk, buzzing her assistant. Their new acquisition would need some rather specific accommodations and luckily she knew exactly where to find them. "Let's arrange for the extraction of Faith Lehane…"

* * *

 **A/N - Thank you so much for reading! I hope you've enjoyed the journey as much as I enjoyed writing it. To all those who took the time to review or send a message, I can't thank you enough. It really means a lot to know that my work is being read. And, while this story, as I originally envisioned it, has reached its conclusion, I do plan to continue telling other tales of Cordy/Doyle. I just can't let them go and I hope most of you can't let them go either. :)**


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